


From the Same Cloth

by LoungeAboutLizard



Category: Hello Puppets (Video Game)
Genre: Chaptered, Comedy, Fantasy, Gen, Horror, Magic, Puppets, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoungeAboutLizard/pseuds/LoungeAboutLizard
Summary: Scout is dead. But she has not been forgotten, by the host moving on from the tragedy, or by the puppets responsible for her creation. They want her back. And they will not stop until they have what's left. This is (one of) the (fanfiction) aftermath(s) of Hello Puppets!
Comments: 25
Kudos: 44





	1. As the Hibird Sings!

_Romero held the reins of his horse taut, their chestnut stallion resting it's hooves on the crest of the hill they stood upon. Soft and billowing winds rolled waves of wheat and grass across the outer pastoral lands of the Kingdom of Lardeny. The wild and unkempt locks of black hair almost as long as her own were tossed to the side as it passed, the man turning his head to look at her._

_"The castle and my father awaits you, princess." He said through supple lips, a soft stubble shadowing the otherwise chiseled contours of his face, the only remnant from the grizzled beard he wore the night she met him. "Pray to your gods that your own sees fit to address our needs, and a kinder fate might yet await you."_

_Maria only nodded her head against his shoulder in exchange for his apologetic tone. She would have moved further away --nay, she would have fell and fled like a glimpsed doe-- but her hands were firmly clasped about his midsection, wrists tied with tightened and torn cloth to embrace muscles like smooth river stones. Her cheeks would be burned rosy had she not been decorated in voluminous silky fabrics with fine tresses now knotted and ghastly. In clothes that were not hers and tired from a day's travel by horseback, she found herself doing exactly as the comely vagabond prescribed. She prayed for the safety of her Lady Persephone, and prayed that her farce would last-_

Hearing the soft ding of the opening automatic doors, Mary hurriedly thumbed off the pages of _The Handmaiden's Ransom_ , pocketing her turned off phone and lifting her eyes to greet the nighttime customer.

But the only thing to greet her back were the good-filled aisles of the gas station interior, the glass doors starting to close again on their own as she lifted a brow in confusion. Well, that was strange. But with expired products having long since been thrown away and shelves restocked, she didn't see a reason to investigate. So she pulled her phone back out.

_-long enough for her to escape back to the borders of their own kingdom. And, if God was so gracious as to grant her a selfish wish, she prayed that she might yet see the pearly gates of Heaven proper when she was found out by these uncouth barbarians, that he might forgive her for daring to take the title of a noble, even if only in passing._

_"There is something you should know before I present you to the court." Romero said as they began their descent of the hill with a soft rap of the reins-_

The doors ringed again, her pocketing the phone and finally moving out from behind the counter. They opened at her arrival as she peeked outside and into the empty parking lot, cracked asphalt painted in dulled white streaks that were illuminated by the long roof over the gas pumps. With no one in sight, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and took a look at the doors as they closed once more.

This was weird. The doors didn't usually open on their own, and in her two years of working the night-shift, they had yet to break without the aid of some kid clumsily walking into or yanking them. She doubted it was a person making them open; the station she worked was tucked into the very corner of town, just beyond the bridge leading in. If anyone ever needed anything, they came inside. Even if someone were to rob the place, they wouldn't need a reason to hide, and she certainly wasn't getting shot over any meager amount of money in the cash-register.

Mary sighed as she rubbed her hand over her tired eyes, sneaker tapping against the ground with a new energy. Great. Now that idea was going to keep her paranoid. She started to head back inside when she heard something clash in the distance, making her jump as ice crept into her belly. She instantly knew that it was the dump out back from the metallic clang she heard echoing from behind the building, and tried to settle her nerves.

Her first thought was that it might be a bear rooting through the trash, but she exhaled in annoyance at the more likely assumption of Howey being involved. She was mentally kicking herself in the ass for forgetting to lock the dumpster back up. Either way, her co-workers were going to have a complaint at the mess that was going to undoubtedly be left behind and it would somehow be her fault. Sorry that she didn't want to get between a wild animal/wild hobo and some expired candy cakes.

As she stood there biting her lip in contemplation of how to get rid of whoever it was, she heard a dull whining. It was so dull that she strained to listen to the random ups and downs it made, but walking closer to the edge of the building, it became louder, and she froze at the instant recognition of it. It was the hoarse crying of a baby. She had been babysitting her nephew for her sister on her days off, so she knew what it sounded like. But that was impossible, right?

Before she knew it, her legs were carrying her beyond the light of the gas station and past the dark shadow of the looming brick wall of the establishment. The coughing, rasping cries only got louder and only seemed to confirm her suspicions, but against all odds, she was hoping that she was wrong. She heard the horror stories of people leaving their newborns out to die in trash bins amongst the garbage, always making her wonder with unfiltered rage how such people could exist in this day and age. She was jogging now, any hesitation at the thought of animals or the homeless gone as she turned the lit back corner of the building where the door was, passing both it and her car as she made her way to the dumpster.

"Hold on there, kid!" She cooed loudly, unhooking the dangling lock off from the lid and lifting it up. "Mary's coming for you. Don't worry."  
  
She didn't see any kind of movement from the limp lumps of garbage bags that laid against the bottom, but she leaned halfway in, ignoring the heavy stench and slick wet lip of the dumpster staining her shirt. She felt up the bags one by one, gently moving one after another in the attempt to get a different kind of sound, anything to help pinpoint wherever the baby might be.

After a few minutes of this and bringing out a bag to tear out it's contents, she stood still and listened before realizing that the crying wasn't coming from inside the dumpster. She discarded the trash bag and walked around the side to look behind it, expecting to see an infant laying there on the cold hard asphalt next to the grassy curb.

Instead, she only stood there, baffled at the sight of a large bird repeatedly opening and closing its fat rounded beak in conjunction with the baby cries she was hearing, only stopping it's repetitions a moment after she discovered it.

"The hell?" She breathed out in confusion as she leaned over to get a better look.

The bird turned it's head towards her, and as it strutted into the dim light, it was immediately apparent that something was off about the animal. It was some kind of red parrot from what she could see, but almost the entire front of it's body was naked and pinkish-grey with wrinkles and goosebumps. Whoever owned it must have tried to dress it up for the cold, because it had straps of white and blue cloth hanging off that dragged against the ground. It was also wearing some sort of hat or mask that looked like a stuffed animal over it's head, complete with big cartoony eyes, goofy teeth, and some sort of red dangling thing under it's beak. And what was that little plastic box on it's head for?

Thinking on it, the style of it's costume actually looked familiar for some reason-

**"Hi there! I'm Hibird! I was making that sound!"**

Mary startled back so hard that she had to flail her arms out to balance herself from the shock, her eyes wide open as the bird suddenly chirped at her in a high-pitched, canny speech she would expect from a parrot. What she hadn't expected was how loud it's sing-song voice had bursted out at her. That, and she just noticed the additional fact that the lower jaw of the stuffed animal was split in two, both sides wiggling back and forth like the waddles on a rooster whenever it twitched it's head to the side to look at her properly. It gave off grisly implications of whatever the owner was trying to accomplish. They were putting this animal in a costume that couldn't possibly be comfortable for it.

And . . .were those stitches around it's eye?

**"Over there, you were lost! But now you are found!"**

"Found?" She asked with a raised brow, still completely stumped and more than a little pissed off by these nonsense chain of events.  
  
**"Found!"** The bird screamed in joy, flaring it's wings open for a second before twitching it's head upside down. The weird plastic box on it's head was tapped against the ground in a quick flick of it's neck.

**"Boop!"**  
  
Without warning, the eyes on the front of it's mask flared blindingly white, the two miniature floodlights burning her eyes and forcing her to turn away with a soft "Fuck!" while she brought her hands up to rub the pain from her retinas.

Except her hands never reached that far. Almost immediately after she turned, a heavy hand with a vice-like grip twisted one arm behind her, eliciting a painful yelp as someone's firm body pressed up against her back. A long and equally solid limb snaked over her other arm, effectively pinning her comparatively smaller form against their own as it continued to wrap around to the side of her head like a stiff python. It was at this point that she noticed two things that made her scream in terror; the first was the realization that the arm wrapped about her head was MUCH longer than the other that held her own twisted arm between them. She thought that they were using a tool of some kind, but that only lasted in the moment it took for a second, toddler-sized set of hands to clasp a moist and overpoweringly pungent towel over the lower half of her face. Only after that did her eyes shoot wide as her mulled screams rung out across the back lot of the gas station. All the while, she heard a loud and scratchy voice screaming the same words over and over with a rhythmic flutter of wings.

_**"FOUND! FOUND! NOW YOU ARE FOUND!"**_

"H-twenty-six! Cease this you clout!"

Mary heard the harsh lecturing voice of an older woman in her ear as she continued to kick and scream, but if her captor was feeling any pain, they weren't flinching in the slightest. Soon enough however, she felt her limbs growing slack, her world growing dark as she found her eyelids impossible to prop open. She felt like she was falling as the foul aroma forced itself into her lungs, the last of the inhuman screaming and words of the woman drifting away like Fall leaves in the wind.

"Mortimer will have our heads if we are ever found out."  
  


\-----------------------------------

_Two Months Later . . ._

  
Stroke after delicate stroke, the once blank canvas now bloomed with an assortment of browns, blues, and yellows, each and every feather-light mark adding one more line of detail to his latest piece.

_". . .still here, mourning the tragedy that befell those two-hundred and eighty-seven souls two decades ago. David."_

_"Yes, thank you, Linda."_ He ignored the television for now even as he saw it in his peripherals, already knowing that it he focused on it, he would have seen a blonde woman standing before an eagle statue switch over to a thin balding man with square glasses talking about the next series of clips about to be shown. 

_"In other news, the annual Halloween parade here in Glensberg is supposedly still going to be underway despite the disappearances of eight victims last year, two of which were children ages four and six. We go down to Murriet Lindsey for more."_  
  
_"Well David, earlier this evening, we had the opportunity to get the opinion of Mayor Cole Anderson on the situation."_ The scene cut to a brighter time of the day, a rotund man with a thin mustache addressing the microphone.

_"Mayor Anderson, what's the driving reason behind why you're choosing to continue with tradition despite the unease? Are you afraid of any potential backlash over the event?"_

_"I'm actually glad you asked that question, because it's actually very similar to something my daughter was concerned about last night. She's been upset about the loss of our community as much as anyone else, we both are, and I'll give you the same answer that I gave her."_ The man hesitated for a moment as he licked his chops.

_"Holding this parade again; it's not about replacing what was lost, or forgetting about the people we cherished. It's about filling the hole that was left behind. It's about building new memories for the younger generation to draw on in their older years, and lifting the spirits of those who suffer from that loss-"_ the audio cut off while the man continued to gesticulate before that too was replaced by the woman again.

_"Although it looks like some people aren't nearly as convinced-"_

He sighed deeply, unable to stand any more of this drivel. "Hibird, be a dear an change the channel. Literally anything else must have more substance than this."

A cheery whistle sounded off before a short flutter of wings brought the colorful hybrid down to the soft loveseat centered before the television, the bird twisting his head to the side in a quick twitchy motion to look at the remote before bringing the rounded front of his beak down on the rubber buttons.

_"-can really taste how soft and fluffy the cream is. That's fine. But the lemon tastes a little like jello, and that's not the consistency you expect or want in a pie like that-"_

"Next." He stated drolly, using the other hand of his host to draw deep, broad strokes across the top of a nearing wave. He had once entertained the idea of cooking something, but the only ones who might appreciate it where murderous monsters with no higher aspirations than that of base animals. And the hybrids didn't exactly have the finest of palettes.

Not to mention stepping on the toes of Daisy who fancied herself an expert in such fields. He struggled to hold his brush steady while he shivered at the notion. The room became much darker while a more sinister adagio played behind the dialogue.

_"-died around ten hours ago from asphyxiation-"_

_"So it was a suicide."_

_"You didn't let me finish. These marks around the neck aren't from the rope, at least not initially. With a person jumping from the second story, the scars left behind-"_

"Yawn." He deadpanned, dipping the top of a paintbrush into a mix of gold and yellow, staining his thumb as he let loose the taut bristles to speckle the bottom half of the foreground with the tiniest of glimmering stars. "I could have applied better makeup to that 'corpse' in my sleep. Next."

**"Oooooooooooooooo!"** Hibird drew out in what he knew to be a sound of fascination. He turned to side-eye the hybrid in annoyance.

"I'll give you the brush when you find me something worth watching. Focus." He sternly demanded.

**"I will do that! Do that I will! That brush you will give me! Then I'll be thrilled!"** He sung unnecessarily loud with a twist of his head at each line and the repeated shaking of his tented wings. But instead of bashing the front of his beak against the remote like a blood-frenzied chicken, as he fully expected him to do, Hibird continued with the slow and methodical movements of pressing the one button as he had done before. The channel changed to some manner of poorly scripted soap-opera with two women threatening to stab one another's eyes out.

"Hmm. That's an improvement. Next." He almost complemented the hybrid before returning to his work, decorating the contours of his subject in the necessary shading.

_"-hat would be nice, wouldn't it? If Pinocchio were a real boy."_

"Stop." He ordered, looking over momentarily to see the animation of an old man tucking soundly into bed along with his cat. He chuckled at the reversion of an age-old classic, watching as a fairy bestowed life into the pine puppet for all the good the man had done throughout his years. It was a romantic idea to be sure, a tale as old as time and saturated with a singular moral for young hosts by seeing the consequences of straying from the wrong path.

"Oh, Pinocchio," he began, "how did you do it? How might we who walk in the same shoes strive to find our own acceptance and celebration in a world that rejects our inanimate emancipation?"

**"THRILLED!"**

Hibird shrilled into his thoughts, flapping over to his host's back before climbing the rest of the way up with his claws and beak. He rolled his eyes as the hybrid sat on his host's head, leaning over with an opening beak at the wooden palette. Pulling it away, he reached over to a nearby shelf where he plucked the golden-stained toothbrush off from it's perch.

"Here you are, you little abomination." He said wearily as he handed the brush to the bird handle first, the avian animal reaching tentatively over with his scaly foot to clumsily grasp it. "You've earned your prize."

**"Oooooooooooooo!"** Hibird cooed again as he lifted the bristled end up to his face, leaning his head to the side to chew and smear paint all over his beak. The puppet only shook his head with a smile at the simple-minded creature before looking back to his art. He was nearly finished, and after a few more minutes of the delicate striking of his brush, he sighed in finished relief as he had his host take a step back to fully glimpse over his latest creation in all of it's glory. His trained eyes looked for any minor mistakes or blemishes that might otherwise draw his immediate attention. Even the hybrid stopped indulging in his newest toy to look up at his art. Chest thrust out in pride, he stroked his wooden fingers along his painted goatee while admiring his work.

"And pray, what might your esteemed opinion be my feathered friend?" He rhetorically asked the bird. The painting itself was a recreation of the cover to an episode of _Mortimer's Handeemen,_ one of the episodes of the last season, in fact. The original cover depicted Mortimer laying back on a reclinable lounge-chair a few scant yards from a sunset stained ocean, his signature top-hat sitting on a nearby table while he swirled an umbrella-topped martini between his fingers. He was dressed in a horizontally striped one-piece swimsuit.

The original plot behind the episode, if he recalled correctly, was that Mortimer had become dreadfully worn from helping one person after another with their problems, and after some convincing from his friends, it was decided that the old man would go on vacation while he and Riley took over his daily routine. Of course hijinks ensued, he and Riley argued, that created some manner of magical monster, they had to work together to defeat it, and of course get a call from Mortimer that he was coming home early which prompted a scene of chaos in which they haphazardly put things back to the way they were. Yada-yada-yada, happy ending.

The painting he had in front of him strayed from the original in a few minor alterations, however. Mortimer was shown as the puppet he was, his upper half still dressed in the same striped one-piece and still twirling his drink between his clawed wooden digits. His host was dressed in a similar manner, a new striped bag over their head and laying about on the lounge chair in a clumsy and uncoordinated manner, looking every bit a drunkard with an arm and leg hanging off the sides. Overall, he was quite impressed with how skillfully he had managed to create such a magnificent piece of art in such little time and with such little light.

As it was, Hibird unexpectedly narrowed the puppet eyes in the front of his head, leaning forward from his perch and squinting as if to scrutinize his work. Then he turned his head to the side, the pupil of his bird eye dilating and shrinking as he looked over key aspects of the painting. After a minute of this and switching over to the other side, he righted himself as he fluffed what little feathers he had outward, his long tail twitching back and forth as he opened his beak to voice his opinion.

**"Pumpkins!"**

There was a few moments of contemplation on his part, carefully considering what he just heard before he flamboyantly dashed out his open hand from his chin, causing the parrot hybrid to squawk and open his wings in surprise.

"You are absolutely right! How could I have not seen this?!"

He quickly reached over for his brush, wetting it, partially drying it on his sleeve, and oh-so-delicately dipping the end into the thin layer of orange paint he possessed. He quickly brushed over the Sun in his haste, decorating every reflective ripple of golden sunlight with a shallow filter of orange, his deft whipping movements and repeated dipping of his brush only stopping after he had sufficiently recreated the very beginnings of the dying sunlight on the horizon, and then going as far as to tint the edges of the farthest clouds purple to complement his newest addition. After he was finished, he once more studied it for anything he might have missed before allowing himself a small celebratory titter. He looked over to his unorthodox helper.

"I must admit to you Hibird, out of all of Riley's misbegotten bastardizations of nature, you are by far the most tolerable."

**"I'm a pretty bird!"** the hybrid sung at his praise, the wrists of his wings dancing up and down.

"Exactly. I find it endearing that you have the gall to think such a thing."

The hybrid whistled a response while he started to put his brushes and paints away. He hadn't gotten halfway through the process before a boisterous voice belched forth from the intercom in the corner of the room, causing the parrot to drop the brush and take flight from his host's head.

"Nick Nack my good man! Come up here at once! I should like reports of your progress while I discipline this dunce!"

"Oh joy." He thought aloud, ignoring the abject screaming that laced the background of Mortimer's order. Rolling his sleeves back down, he moved over to the loveseat and picked up the remote, clicking the TV off before holding his host's arm out towards the hybrid who was currently sitting on it's headrest.

"Come along, Hibird." He ordered, the animal scooting from the chair to the arm and up onto his host's shoulder. "If push comes to shove, I'd rather him make an example of you than a toy of me."

**"Discipline this Dunce!"** The ignorant Hibird mimicked in an almost impeccable imitation of Mortimer's voice, albeit a bit canny.

"Indeed." He loftily wondered aloud, rounding the railing and climbing the steps up from the basement. "I'm curious as to how much longer he intends to torture that overzealous wench for her failures."

The hybrid didn't answer as he opened the door and passed the remnants of some charred debris, but his own thoughts vividly reminded him how easily his own screams could have intermingled with her own right about now. He had been upstairs the day Rily's warning had sounded over the intercoms about the escape of a puppet named Scout and their host. Other than smiling at Riley breaking her beloved rhyming routine, Nick Nack had merely shrugged it off as a problem of her own. She was in charge of puppet Initiation after all, a point he would gladly express to Mortimer if he were ever to accuse him of shirking his duties.

But it would be hard to argue such a point to the mad magician if he knew that he had traded glances with the escapee herself. Of course he could argue that many a board and box blocked his path to reaching her, but in truth, and an ugly truth at that, was that he froze. In one of the few moments in his short animated life thus far that his mind was absent of clarity or calculation, he locked eyes with that puppet. Her blue fabric skin, trembling orange eyes, and purple hair were as clear to him as his mind was blank. He was at a loss of what to do, not even the odd quip to exchange with the supposedly defective puppet coming to mind as they stared at one another. Or perhaps it was his subconscious acting in self defence, subtly knowing but not sharing the knowledge that if he made a move to subdue her and fail, that Mortimer was likely to take any frustrations he had on him, regardless if they escaped or not. And so both parties moved on, neither acknowledging the other for their own survival. A tactic he very much doubted Mortimer would appreciate if he were to ever find out.

Hibird pressed the button on his head against his host, lighting their way as they strolled past a ruined portion of the warehouse. The smell of mold, soot, and rat piss were overpowering as he passed the hallway and made a right into another room, another narrow corridor adjacent of Human Resources. There he came upon the lumbering brute of a host and their disgusting cyclopsian sock-puppet, the hybrid on his own host's shoulder squawking in alert and flapping his wings as it neared with it's gaping, toothy maw.

"Enough." He commanded, narrowing his eyes upon the mismatched abomination which swiftly closed it's mouth at his word. "Keep to your post, you vile miscreant, or I'll have Daisy stitch together something smarter onto that host of yours."

Regardless of whether it understood his threat or not, the patchwork imbecile shuffled aside it's girth far enough to where he could pass, Hibird eyeing the sock-puppet long after they left it behind near the door. Meanwhile, all he could do was brush his fingers over his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Jake had deserved so much better.

They continued forward, mice and large rats with fabric puppet heads scurrying away from the hand of a used host, though when they came upon a host body ahead, a larger dog hybrid was more reluctant to leave it's meal, continuing to gnash it's yellowed teeth on rotting meat behind fabric skin. It growled as they neared, but before he could kick the thing aside, Hibird leaned forward, naked chest expanding before he let loose a new noise past his beak.

**"Get lost you sniveling, castrated mutt!"** He barked out, not in the tone of a larger breed of dog as Nick Nack had heard him perform before, but in the snapping caustic voice of Riley. The dog hybrid perked it's head up at once, looking about as surprised as Nick Nack felt before Hibird spoke again.

**"Or I'll tear out your spine and shove it into your gut!"**

Looking around with a whine, the altered canine pulled it's fluffy tail between it's legs and hesitated, unsure of which way to go before taking off past them, claws clicking against the tile floor as it disappeared into the darkness. Hibird whistled in what the Handeeman assumed to be triumph before looking back over to him, the bird tilting his head with four hopeful eyes. The puppet only stared back for a moment before shaking his head and resuming forward.

Though after that, everything was unnaturally quiet and uneventful, even as they walked past the hanging body-bags of occasionally struggling hosts. He walked up to the terminal, pressing his wooden hand to the screen and opening the door to the elevator. The tug of gravity on their ascending bodies felt like the odd sensation he was feeling in the silence between himself and the hybrid. It was nonsensical to be sure, and he was positive that none of the others would have paid any more heed to the bird than he had shown. But for one reason or another, he sighed before giving in to the sensation with a movie quote he heard recently that would suffice for the situation, given a slight modification.

"That'll do, bird. That'll do."

**"GUT!"** Hibird suddenly screamed in his own voice, flapping his fully extended wings as if he had been waiting for those words all his life. **"GUT! GUT! SHOVE IT INTO YOUR GUT!"**

A show of affection he came to regret almost instantly. After the time it took shouting at the hybrid to calm down and succeeding that much later, they passed the corridors of random stage props, supplies, and other junk that he couldn't care to look upon. A few grimy terminals and sock-puppet guards later, they arrived at the Sound-Stage. Walls of painted backgrounds, cameras, and props came to greet them as they passed. He looked back in the direction of the Dressing Room longingly, eager to once again have the proper lighting to work with his plenitude of paints and pastels. He made a mental note to come back with some sock-puppets to temporarily move some of his belongings down to the basement as he moved on, finally approaching the door to the Main Stage.


	2. Tea Time is Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a word of warning, I was making some assumptions/ taking some creative liberty in terms of the biology of the puppets, as well as what Mortimer is and isn't able to do. So if some things seem a hair odd, well, now you know why.

Even before Nick Nack approached, he could hear the dulled screams of Riley, not perplexing him in the least as he had his host straighten out their apron while he patted down the stained clothes on his own body. With a deep breath through his nose and a growing mindset he used in the best of his theatre quality acts, he touched upon the terminal lightly before stepping forth into the opening doors. With his nose high and chest thrust out, he looked over the events taking place with the perfect amount of haughty confidence and submissive servitude.

Walking through the path separating piles of debris and I-beams, he came upon a sight he had grown quite familiar with for some time. Amongst these rotting ruins, the roles of torturer and tortured switched hand over hand more often than not, though this particular pairing was uncommon and he had to stifle a laugh as he approached. Around the table Mortimer often set aside for 'Tea Time' were the broken and shattered remains of small ceramic pots and kettles, the brown stains of spilt tea that reflected the overhead stage-light having long since stained the floor. Around it were huddled a host of puppets of every make and shape; from the hybrid rats that scuttled in the shadows of the rubble, to the sock puppets flanking either side of a laughing Mortimer, to the larger than life Rosco. Here, the Handeemen hound was laying on the ground with his limbs splayed out like the tentacles of a ragbag octopus, the deep sorrowful whines reverberating from the back of his nightmarish maw even tugging at his nonexistent heart-strings.

The source of distress for the helpless hybrid was tied flat to the table no more than a yard from those long rib-like teeth, her apron and lab coat discarded in torn fragments to the ground below. Rily was a screaming wreck, no surgeon's mask to hide her open overbite as the soaked, naked wooden shell that was her torso pulled and strained against the ropes that bound her to the table. Her current human host, of which she was still attached, simply stood next to her without so much as a word. The dark patches of dampness that coated their bodies, along with the stink of perspiration, implied that the suffering forced upon the mad scientist was exacting a toll upon them as well.

"Ah Nick Nack my fellow, so good for you to finally join us!" Mortimer jovially greeted him as he approached. He graciously bowed in return, however his eyes were drawn to the tools at the magician's disposal. Beside Riley's writhing, sticky body was a box he recognized, felted red insides holstering several sharp whittling knives in their individual indents. One of them was empty, along with a space for a small, ball-peen hammer.

"Please, sit down. Get comfy as we discuss our business." He finished his rhyme as he casually returned to looming over Riley. Without another word, the old man laid his host's hand on her writhing torso to still her as he took a dagger-like chisel from the table with one clawed hand and a hammer in the other, lining the bladed rectangular end against her body.

"Please Mortimer! I'm begging for your forgiveness!" Riley screamed hoarsly as Mortimer lined the hammer up next to a few other wet and rough lines going vertically up her body. Meanwhile, Nick sat his host down on one of the chairs the sock-puppets provided, unnerved by what he was about to witness again.

"I know I have failed! I'll fix it, I'll-"

"Oh I know you'll make it up to me." Mortimer cut her off, holding the chisel at her nose. "It's been a week now, you and I, making you scream from sunrise till night. But I have a grand plan, and one you'll enjoy. One to let you off early and back to your toys."

"Yes please! I'll do as you say! Just tell me the rules of your game!" She begged, green and blue eyes looking over at Mortimer with hope.

"Excellent!" He placed the chisel back into it's original position, making Riley's brows rise as the hope she had died once more. "Nick Nack and I have much to discuss, so until then, you will not interrupt us. I will continue to scrape and whittle and grind, and if you can hold in your screams, you'll be free to say bye. Fail to obey, or let out a peep, and you will be mine and again your pain I will reap. Do you understand?"

Her wooden limbs rattling against the table, Riley nodded, her wooden trap shut tight in her head as her hands balled up into fists.

"Splendid!" With that, Mortimer tapped the hammer against the chisel, Riley's body squirming against the table while muffled screams stopped at her closed mouth. Even Nick flinched with every tap of the hammer, watching as a thin layer of wood curled up from the digging blade that moved from the bottom of her body to over the curve of her chest. It was the most painful thing a true Handeeman puppet could endure. He wasn't a biologist like Riley, if matters such as this could even be called that, but he had seen enough sentient puppets torn apart to have a grasp of what could kill them and what caused them pain. The hybrids bled red ichor like their host counterparts. The sock-puppets? The felt puppets? Cotton fell from their insides like a strange mixture of blood and muscle both. But they? The Handeemen of hard wooden carapaces who's bodies could reflect all but the sharpest of knives?

They bled sap, as he could clearly see from the sticky amber liquid that stuck to the shavings in thin breaking strands, the ones Mortimer peeled off joining the others littering the table and floor. Had his face been capable, he doubted that he could have hidden the intense disgust he felt at the misuse of such finely tailored tools being used for such butchery. Owen would probably be rolling in his grave right about now. Well, half of it at least.

"So Nick old bean," Mortimer asked above the ring-tinging of his hammer, "don't be so shy! Surely you have found something by now that's worth more than dramas and pie?"

_If only_ , he thought to himself as he sighed. He was slowly but steadily beginning to curse the day that puppet discovered the television in the basement. He coughed into his fist, preparing to rhyme once more. As much as he enjoyed poetry, he'd have thought that they would have evolved beyond such convoluted communication by now.

"I fear not, Mortimer my friend. I have found nothing but the yearly Halloween parade around the bend. Besides more methods of discovery that the policemen now use, the cable holds little more than commercial refuse."

"Mmm, that does seem dreadfully dull I'm afraid." Mortimer replied, replacing the chisel and hammer he had with a smaller knife, leaning over one of her arms. "Alas, we can use what you've learned, so there you will stay."

At the sound of this, he clenched his jaw, the sound of wooden teeth grinding together in his head almost drowning out the sound of Riley's hushed agony.

"But alas, I can be of more use to you up here. The cable only holds so much, and to learn more, I'd need be a seer!" He laughed out the last, hoping to make the old man see reason.

"Indeed." Mortimer acknowledged, peeling away the first layer of Riley's arm like an apple skin as she closed her eyes tightly. "But seeing as how you are no weaver, no brute, or no scientist, I'm afraid that job is all I can give you. This much I insist."

Seeing as how the magician was currently preoccupied, he felt safe enough that he could ball his hands into fists, the most silent of squeaks sounding out from his fingers scraping against his palms. "But I'm a fast learner, and while I'm no tool, a stronger host I can get, or I can take from the spool."

"Perhaps, but we've plenty of bodies to act as fodder, and as for sewing, well," Mortimer snickered, striking another long groove in the whining scientist's arm, "I don't need to tell you who Daisy would slaughter."

Nick Nack closed his eyes, the sigh coming from his mouth feeling like the exhaling bellows that stoked a furnace. He knew the old man was right, but damn it all, anything was better than piddling away his time and host sitting in a chair or trying to paint with little to any light.

"Literally anything else would be more beneficial than jotting down things mundane to judicial. I could even help Riley capture new hosts! An arm and a leg I'd give for a new post!" He cursed aloud, only just now realizing his latest words came out without so much as a thought. Mortimer looked up past his monocle and sculpted eyebrows, stopping mid-way from carving another damp layer from Riley's upper arm. He half expected the old man to approach him with a threat, but instead, he heard a sigh.

"Perhaps you are right," he said, leaning up from his work. "and while I would love nothing more than to send you outside, all of that depends on Riley's behavior tonight." He looked back up at him, a strange twinkle appearing in his eye before he flipped the knife between his clawed digits and held it out handle-first.

"But you Nick Nack, who has not failed me yet, why don't you take a slice? It'll cure your ailments, I'll bet."

He was taken aback, doing his best to hide it while he hesitated for but the briefest of moments. He knew that Mortimer's offer was merely a honeyed command, but as much as he despised the diabolical data-collecting doctor and her monsters, he didn't wish to sink down to their level of depravity, at least not here in this instance. Besides, the sap would make his smock sticky, and he only possessed the one. He tilted his head and hooded his eyes as if in bliss at the idea before sighing and holding his hand up against his forehead.

"Alas, as much is my dream to create such art, I'm afraid my efforts would only sour this tart." He held his chin and rapped his wooden finger against his cheek, pretending to look up in thought as he ignored Riley's indignant glare. "But you know, if I may, and with your permission," he gestured to Hibird, who looked up from preening his wing feathers, "perhaps this little one might take pleasure in your pain-bearing mission."

"I say, what a marvelous proposition!" Mortimer laughed heartily, having his host grab the knife while he held out his wooden arm to the hybrid that was nearly as big as he was.

"Come come, little Handeemen! Prove your employ!" After some maneuvering on his host's shoulder, the hybrid pulled himself onto Mortimer's arm without question, with him quite baffled that the old man had enough strength to hold the bird upright as he carried Hibird over to set him on the table next to a watching Riley.

"From the one that created you, make her wood into your toy!"

At this, Hibird looked over Riley's wooden body, first with his puppet eyes, and after a tilt of his head, with his bird eyes. Then he beaked himself up her torso, looking down at her furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. If the hybrid held any idea of what anger she might be holding or what consequences might befall him later, he either didn't seem to care or didn't show it in the limited expressions of his puppet eyes. Instead, those same orange eyes opened in wonder at the last shaving Mortimer had left on her upper arm.

**"I see it! I like it! Something right there! A new toy for Hibird! I'll get it, I swear!"** He perked up in high-pitched excitement as he quickly shuffled over to her limb. Riley struggled against her ropes while the other two Handeemen watched the process with different levels of interest, the bird sitting on her forearm while tilting his head over the damp shaving. With curious caution, the bird leaned down with an open beak and grabbed it softly, tapping his dry black tongue against it a few times before experimentally jerking his head to the side. Riley flinched as if pulled by an invisible string, panting through her nose as she continued to glare daggers at her traitor of a creation.

A low growl bounced off the walls of the room as Rosco started pulling himself onto his spindly legs, the bends of his limbs tensing like a pressed spring as he did so. Nick Nack found his heart stopping and lead climbing into his gut as he was frozen still by the nightmare dog's loaded pose and the vibrations of the animal's threat. With such intensity, he could feel Rosco's growls washing over himself. That was until Mortimer turned his head, an evil eye glowering in the monster's direction.

"Sit back down, you mangy beast. Or your worries for your master will be your least."

And with those few and firm sentences, Rosco slowly but surely lowered himself to the floor again, curling his head next to his body with a whine as his mismatched eyes went longingly back and forth between the table where Riley laid and the floor. After that, Mortimer turned back to the table as Nick Nack cautiously took his place beside the magician once more. In the meantime, Hibird continued to yank at the shaving until it was ripped off like the tag of a shirt, the woman rattling her arms against the table, seemingly more out of frustration than pain at this point. Mortimer sighed as he straightened his suit.  
  
"Apologies for that ugly show of force. It is never my intention to beat a whipped horse."

Nick didn't have a response to that particular line, looking upon the abused and carved body of Riley before looking back to him. He continued.

"No. I've always been under the impression that there lives no bad pet." He looked down on Riley, clawed hand briefly running down the parrot's head in what looked like a rare show of affection, to which Hibird lovingly closed his eyes and nudged into his palm with a drawn out whistle.

"Only incompetent owners, that make for a poor asset. Don't you agree, my dear Riley?"

The Handeeman in question looked over to him, seemingly unsure whether to answer his question or not. When she hesitated, Mortimer tapped his clawed finger on her upper arm, making her eyes squint in pain for a moment as he clasped his hands behind himself. Almost as if bade on some unspoken command, Hibird scooted over, twitched his head to the side with pupils pinning in and out, and lunged his beak down on the place where the magician tapped. It wasn't anything particularly fast or graceful, but the hybrid's sharp beak skidded around on the slick surface, Riley's eyes slammed closed and her lower jaw trembling at every scrape. That was until the bird's sharp instrument found purchase and penetrated the wood, Riley shaking her head back and forth to bang against the table repeatedly as Hibird's collapsing bite splintered the wood with a soft crackling.

If his face were capable of becoming any paler, Nick Nack would have blanched right then and there, suddenly having a much healthier respect of the same beak he had ordered to change the channels and had annoyingly broken many a wooden paintbrush. Whereas the cuts Mortimer made on Riley's carcass had been relatively clean, shallow, and with the grain, Hibird pulled out a ragged, sizable chunk of splintered wood from her arm. The bird innocently tongued the oozing piece while even more thick sap rolled down from the small hole in the whining woman's arm at a snail's pace. Nick looked down in disgust that only grew as Mortimer dipped a single claw into the wound, making his victim turn her head away with clenched eyes as he dipped the digit between the twin walls of teeth in his face.

"Mmmm. Sweeter than I would expect." He pulled his first finger out and wiped it on the arm of his host as he raised a brow. "But did you fail to hear me Riley? In my words, I'm sure there was no defect. I asked you a question, and it's rude not to respond. I'll give you another chance, that is unless you've taken a liking to your bonds. Don't you agree, my dear Riley?"

Riley turned her head over to Mortimer, half-lidded eyes closing as she nodded to his question. With smug eyes, Mortimer had his host walk over. He placed his hand upon her opposite shoulder, patting it reassuringly to comfort her. She let out the breath of relief that Nick felt wash over himself as well, glad that this meeting was almost adjourned.

"Smart girl." Mortimer acknowledged. "Once again, you have managed to impress, for keeping silent under such duress. You are free to talk as you please . . ."

Riley opened her mouth to suck in a deep breath, once more relaxing as much as she was able. "T-Thank you Mortimer. I promise-"

". . . after one more love bite for your lack of earlier expertise." He said, tapping her shoulder with his claw.

"What?" Riley barely uttered past her lips, looking on in horror as Mortimer kept walking and Hibird hopped from her chest to her other arm, both her limbs flexing desperately against her bindings while the hybrid once again sunk his beak into her wood. As Mortimer sat across from Nick, he intertwined his fingers.

"Sorry again for the lack of conversation. I was so enthralled with the show that I entirely forgot about consultation!" Mortimer laughed above the sound of Riley screaming into her teeth, slapping his hand against the table as he did so. "For starters Nick Nack, I feel for your plight. I myself had long since craved again to see light. But have no worries and hold no fuss! I have just the idea that will give our plans a much-needed gust! It will require your skill, of Riley, and of Daisy's as well!" He paused, looking over to the woman with a fresh new chip on her shoulder and a happily chewing parrot on her chest.

"You're free to speak now, if you couldn't tell."

"Thank you . . . Mortimer." She uttered, head lolling to the side as she forced out each word. "I will not fail you again. Not now or ever. Please be sure of that and let me recover."

Mortimer looked over to her with narrowed eyes, lifting a hand up and snapping his fingers. Without further delay, two sock-puppets came around the table and pulled out their rust-coated knives, fraying the rope with each sawing thrust as Hibird jumped off to perch on the edge of the table. Once the ropes fell from her wrists, she pulled herself up by her host, her bleeding arms covering her chest as a third sock-puppet placed the torn remains of her lab coat around her shoulders.

"You are unthinkably lucky that we require that brain." He cautioned slowly, punctuating each syllable. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "And if you do fail me again, I'll put it in Wayne."

The sock-puppet behind Mortimer formed it's ugly grimace into an innocent smile at the sound of it's name like the obedient dog that it was. Meanwhile, Riley nodded as she looked down at the floor she was dripping on, not daring to meet his gaze. Nick Nack only shook his head at her plight. He knew that her arrogant attitude and ravenous hunger for knowledge would land her here one day, and he had told her as such on many occasions. For someone so smart, she acted with no common sense. Well, neither did Mortimer, but after what he just witnessed, he wasn't keen on sharing such thoughts.

A repeated whistling caught his ear as Nick, along with everyone else, looked down. Hibird was strutting towards the very middle of the table. He twirled his head and vibrated his tented wings in his little dance, Riley's wooden flesh still clutched in his beak. The artist was familiar with this dance and decided to ignore the bird, even as everyone else decided not to. The hybrid was trying to gain the Handeemen's attention.

_Speaking of no common sense,_ He thought. But much to his surprise, Mortimer ran his claws down the bird's back, the feathers at the bottom of Hibird's mask fluffing out as he scratched the crook between his neck and wing.

"Now then Riley, before you depart, I have a task you will take to heart." The magician said, continuing to stroke the bird while he addressed her. "I'm sending your pet out to perform a chore for me, to track down that host and that puppet escapee. Once that is done, and she is brought back, you will tear her apart to find out what she lacks."

Riley finally looked over to him, brow raised. "But . . . Scout is dead. You and I both know that much can be said."

"Indeed." He wondered thoughtfully. "The Host took her body away from this place. We well know that to be the case." He lifted his body up slightly, pushing his palms against the table with the clicks of his claws as he growled vehemently. "But be that as it may, I will not have all of our work be in vain. This incident will not repeat. Not now, nor ever again."

"Then . . . perhaps I could assist." Riley began. "That hybrid has never worked alone before. That is, H26."

"No." Mortimer stated, guiding the parrot-puppet onto his arm as he had his host stand up. "Much as I'd like, you are needed here more. Your presence is necessary for what I have in store." As he walked to the other side of the table, he looked her over, turning his nose as if he smelled something foul.

"But first clean yourself up. Leave and get dressed. I've no desire to see you until after you've cleaned up your mess."

Lowering her gaze, she nodded, absent of her usual eccentric spark as she pulled what remained of her tattered lab coat around herself. She leaned her host down to pick up her surgical mask before turning around and walking out to the Sound Stage, Rosco getting up with a wagging tail and slowly plodding up to her side. While she left, Mortimer was positioned before the curtains, his host standing straight with their tattooed hand resting on their hip as if to perform _Mortimer's Handeemen_ once more. He held Hibird at arm's length as he spoke.

"Alright little Handeemen, time to prove your self-worth. Time to be on your mission and to earn me my mirth!" He began his gestulations, his voice taking on a whimsical tone as if speaking to the younger audiences of old. "You will go now on the wing and with your feathers take flight! Ride the winds of the day and gusts of the night! Keep your eyes open wide and scour the lands, as you look for the owner of this puppet hand!"

As he spoke the last verse, Mortimer reached into his suit, fishing out the arm of the puppet that escaped their clutches. Nick Nack had spotted the arm in passing the day Riley had fixed the crank that closed the exit out of the Steam Tunnels. It was a mangled mess of greasy stretched fabric in the vague imitation of a blue arm, with cotton falling out of more than one end. What was grasped in the magician's clutches now had been restored, at least to the extent that it could. The holes had been stitched shut, but everything from the elbow down was colored charcoal. Daisy's work if he had to guess. Which meant she was already aware of Mortimer's plan, and thus one step ahead of himself. Something he noted for later.

After taking it out, Mortimer leaned it close to his teeth, the gap between his opening mouth so small that he almost didn't see it. But then he started to whisper something, something akin to the indecipherable language he used when animating a new puppet or crafting some other spell. He only knew as much because he felt a tug in that direction, as if he were the cord of a harp and some force was tugging him to his limit in the direction of the magician's words. Darkness crowded the edge of his eyesight for but a blink of time, his chest becoming tight and had he still been fresh to the sensation, he would have tried to breathe just to make sure he was in the same spot.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Like a cord, all that he was and would be sung out as his soul snapped back into place. When the sensation stopped, his hearing came back, catching the tail-end of Hibird screaming with flapping wings as Mortimer hushed and cooed him back to a more docile state. Looking around, it seemed that some of the sock-puppets were shaking off their stupor as he had, some groaning as they stilled their wobbling legs while another pushed itself up from it's apparent fall from the floor. Nick Nack shook his head to clear any lingering woozyness before looking back up to the two. Mortimer was in the middle of tying the puppet arm to the hybrid by a length of string.

"Now when you find the body of this traitorous puppet, you will descend like a spider onto Little Miss Muffet. Grasp her in your talons, and take to the skies!-"

**"Annihilation!"** Hibird screamed, flapping his wings in excitement before Mortimer clasped them back to his body with his host's hand.

"You will do no. Such. Thing." Mortimer ordered, the unspoken threat evident in his tone enough to calm the now crouching bird. "Such is the task of Riley to make her sing." He shook his head. "No. You will make sure that she remains in one piece, or else call off your mission and have it be ceased. If her body is too hard to get to, or too far to find, come back here to inform us inside. Otherwise, take her and rise. Fetch her for us and you will have earned your prize." He looked him in the puppet eyes. "Do you understand?"

After a moment of looking back at Mortimer and tilting his head to the side like a confused dog, he screamed again. **"Capturization!"**

"Excellent." Mortimer said with satisfaction, lifting his host's hand off before waving his own up and down, each teetering movement of his arm making the bird lift his wings while the he whistled.

"Now be gone! Be ready! Get out! Go forth little Handeemen! Bring me that Scout!" He yelled out his last rhyme, finally throwing his arm fully to the side. Hibird launched off as he fell backwards, quickly tucking one wing in while his opening tail-feathers and his other wing opened to right himself.

_**"SCOUT! SCOUT! BRING ME THAT SCOUT!"**_

He quickly flapped out of the Main Stage, his echoing screams fading in the distance as Mortimer clapped his hands back and forth as if to clean them of something dirty.

"Ah, that's one problem taken care of. Now I can focus on my labor of love."

Nick finally stood up from his chair, the sock-puppets nearly finished wiping the table clean and replacing the broken tea set which had been swiftly swept up. "You seem rather confident that the hybrid will succeed. How do you know he will not die or be distracted by a new lead?"

Mortimer turned his head over his shoulder before walking towards him. He thought that the old man was ready to sit down again, but instead he kept walking towards him. It seemed that their meeting was coming to an end after all.

"Oh Nick Nack old bean, you would be surprised at the things that I've seen. The world is big and our knowledge must grow. But before you leave and retire to your shows, I have a tidbit of advice I thought you should know."

The old man leaned in close, Nick Nack reluctantly turning his head so he could hear him better. He was as likely to bite his ear off with those goofy teeth as to-  
Mortimer put a firm hand on his shoulder, the pinpricks of his claws digging through his clothes and slightly into his wood.

_"The next time you let a puppet like her go, it will be you and your bloody sap we are cleaning up after."_ He whispered almost surreptitiously into his head.

Nick's eyes shot open. He wanted to bolt from the magician's grip right then and there, flight fighting against the firm resolve he was willing into the legs of his host, though he could still feel them trembling. He felt like he was watching through the eyes of someone else, so numb was he with the icy claws of fear that were just as tangible as Mortimer's own. The old man could have sunk one of his whittling knives into him and it wouldn't have been as distracting as what he had shared with him.

_"Now, is there anything else you might want to share with me Nick? Perhaps you might need some sock-puppets for a task or two?"_

Mortimer's lack of rhymes and singular use of his first name only disturbed him that much more as he struggled to stand upright, so shaken that he was sure that the old man could feel it. How couldn't he? But regardless, he felt compelled to speak. To say anything as a distraction before this predator decided to pounce.

"Actually, I need a few to help move some of my supplies to the basement. It gets awfully boring down there, you know?" He said, so strained for wit that he forgot to rhyme.

"Indeed I do know." He finally let go of his shoulder, straightening his smock out for him while he spoke evenly again. "But fret not, dear friend. You'll be up soon enough to put on a good show."

Nick Nack didn't try to move, nor let his eyes off Mortimer for a second until he passed his field of vision. The old man patted his stinging, wet shoulder one last time before he left.

"I'll leave you with some minions of mine. Try not to strain yourself, friend. One thing we are still good on is time."

Nick didn't reply. He didn't move until he heard the scan of the terminal Mortimer activated. He didn't even breathe until he heard the door closing shut behind him. Only then did he feel safe enough to let his host collapse back into the chair while he fell to the table, palms catching his panting body before his wooden frame could crash against it. It was still slightly sticky from Riley's latest session of torture, but that was hardly what bothered him right now. His mind was racing with questions, birthing forth and just as suddenly pushed back as he tried to prioritize them in vain. How the hell did Mortimer KNOW? Would there be repercussions despite what he said? Up until now, he had always considered himself within his good graces, so did he have to continuously look over his shoulder now? How could he make it up to him? Where did he go from here?

Something touched his host's shoulder. He launched himself up from the chair, knocking it backward as he slammed his wooden body and the arm behind it against another host, knocking back the sock-puppet and leaning over it with closed fists.

"DON'T DARE FUCKING TOUCH ME!" He boomed in an ugly scraping snarl, wild-eyed as he looked over the other sock-puppets that fearfully groveled in their single-syllabled groans. He breathed, looking over and around them for a few moments, as if Mortimer might still be hiding in the shadows before trying to get a hold on himself. After a few counted breaths through his nose and out through his mouth, he sighed, regaining the aloof air he used with these lesser creatures.

"Pick yourselves up and follow me." He said as he walked past them, pointing to the one furthest to the left. "You . . .Wayne? You will be staying down in the basement. Now that I'm down one annoying and helpful parrot, I'll have to settle for a mindless wayward stooge and their host."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first ever, well, anything on here, so if anything is out of place or seems weird by A03 standards, any helpful criticisms or commentary is appreciated.
> 
> Also, this and the next chapter might be the only ones I post, since these were originally just meant to introduce my OC, Hibird. I'm still deciding on that bit. Apologies in advance.
> 
> Also also, if you want to see what Hibird looks like here's the link: https://www.deviantart.com/lisaurian/art/Hello-Puppets-OC-Hibird-Drawing-1-833321298


	3. Hello Puppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the Host, Franklin Pooles and his closest family at the moment, the Depnick Family!

"Frank?"

He snapped out of his stupor, shaking his head for a moment while his cousin chuckled.

"I know I'm probably boring you to death. Sorry, it's just that it's so fascinating to me and I don't really get to talk to anyone else about it."

"No, I get it." He replied automatically, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. "You were asking me about things like features and appendages evolving into things that they weren't originally designed for."

"That was a few minutes ago, but yeah." His cousin sighed from the swivel chair in his room, brushing a hand through his dark hair before looking out of the window.

"It is getting late. Sorry for keeping you up, Frank."

He waved a hand to dismiss it. "It's fine, dude. I enjoy these conversations. I just don't always have the attention span for it sometimes."

"Yeah . . ." He trailed off, looking out of the window for a second before turning back to him with a concerned expression. "You sure you're ok, Frank? You've been pretty tired lately."

Franklin shook his head. "I'm fine. I've just been having trouble sleeping lately, you know?"

"Right." They sat there for a moment, the awkward moment passing as Russell looked at his lap. "Nightmares?"

"Not exactly." He answered as truthfully as he could. "I've just been a little skittish at night is all."

"My mom's offer still stands. You can move in with us for a little while if you want." Russell stated, almost hopefully.

"It's fine." He said, cutting the end of his cousin's sentence off. After a tense moment, he tried relaxing a little, falling back on his bed. 

"Sorry. No, it's just, " he looked up at the ceiling, trying to think up an excuse.

"It's not me, is it?"

Franklin immediately sat straight up again. "Dude, you already know it's not. I don't want you to think that."

"I know, but," he sighed, looking back out the window with wet eyes, "if I had just paid attention to this shit and took care of it instead of letting you wander around without me, you might not have been kidnap-"

Russell was clearly trying to keep from sobbing right there in front of him, but instead Franklin just got up from his bed and went over to hug the larger man, his cousin standing up to return it just as fiercely.

"I know, man. I know." He said, trying to comfort him as he fought to keep his own tears in, albeit with a little more success due to his exhausted state. After a few minutes of them hugging each other, Russell finally left his formerly dry shoulder with a sniff before rubbing the bottom of his wrists against his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Frank." He finally choked out after he stepped back, laughing after a bit while he dried his red eyes. "I'm over here bawling like a damn baby and you're less concerned about this than I am."

_I wouldn't say that_ , He thought to himself. "You ain't got nothing to be sorry for, Russell. It was my dumbass idea to head into an abandoned warehouse alone, and, well," he looked over to the dull red marks on his arm, licking his itchy lips for what must have been for the tenth time today, "this is what I get."

"But it should have been me." He cursed quietly. "It was my job to write that stupid fucking Halloween article. If you hadn't gotten away, who knows what else that old bastard might have done to you?" He sat down hard on the chair, looking around the room as if looking for said bastard.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you can make me your article." Franklin chuckled as he sat back down on the bed. "I'll even let you embellish it a little. Maybe instead of an old man, it was some crazy hot ghost lady who wanted to make me her doll. _Forever and ever~_ " He finished in a spooky fading tone.

"You would want that, wouldn't you?" It was his cousin's turn to shake his head with a laugh. "No, I've already written something for it, don't worry. Ashley feels really sorry about what happened to you too, by the way. She gave me some kind of gift basket to give to you, but I completely forgot it. I'll bring it next time."

"And yet she couldn't be bothered to bring it over herself. I see how it is." He teased. "Hears that I was abducted and tortured and everything, and she sends me a basket instead of tearing herself away from campus long enough to say hi." He crossed his arms like an impotent child. "I'll bet she sent me fruit. Nobody wants fruit. Unless it's one of those hats that's made out of fruit. And even if it was, when would I ever wear it?"

"Actually, it was one of those kiddy Halloween pumpkin baskets with candy already inside."

"Oooooooh." He turned his head at that. "That's actually not that bad. I take back almost every bad thing I've ever said about her."

"You're easy to please." Russell stated, both of them laughing as they finished their bit. After that, Russell finally got up to exit his apartment, Franklin following him out. They passed his leather couch and computer desk before Russell opened the door and walked out, Franklin holding the door open as they half-hugged and patted each other's shoulders.

"You sure you're going to be alright, Frank?"

"Relax, Russell. I've got me wits and me trusty blunderbust about me. No manner of man or beast will come knockin' without a fair taste of either." He said in a sailor-ish intonation.

"That was funny the first few times after we watched the _Lighthouse_. Not the month after." His cousin deadpanned.

"So you don't like me cookin'?" He asked with an exaggerated lift of his brow. After a dry chuckle, his cousin waved him off, Franklin about to close the door before Russell looked back.

"Remember Frank, if you need anything, me and mom are just a few minutes away."

"I know, man." He nodded with a tired smile. "Night Russell."

He heard a dulled "Night" before he closed the door, dragging a slow and heavy breath into his lungs as he stood there, just holding the cool brass door handle. After a minute, he locked both it and the latch above, walking like a zombie back over to his room. He closed the door behind him, locking that too before turning the light on. His dirty clothes had been put in the hamper, and the plastic drawers of his working materials were shunted back against the far wall, leaving the center of his room clean and easy to maneuver in if he needed to.

In the crook between his bed and hobby desk was his backpack, the old but rugged grey fabric stretched from the textbooks of his highschool days. Leaning down to one knee, he unzipped the top and carefully reached inside, widening the gap with his other hand as he pulled out the large head of the puppet. His hand clasped over her purple hair with his thumb pressed against the roof of her mouth, pulling the rest of her out and sitting down when he had laid out her limp blue body on the table. He had washed out the bloodstains from the bottom of her shirt/body as best as he had been able, but the dead brown stains refused to leave. The lingering memories of himself and two others were permanently left behind in the material.

He pulled a drawer out and fished through the useful debris to pull out a spool of brown thread and a skin-pink length of fabric held together by a series of pins littering the upper half. The bottom half was already stitched together, and after setting his tablet up in the corner on it's holder, he fingered through some videos before settling on a playthrough of a new game, watching out of the corner of his eye as he picked up the needle and thread hanging off of the piece to start stitching.

He threaded loop after loop after loop, pulling the strings tight with each successful repetition. Sometimes they seemed unnecessarily close together, but he needed them to be tight as to not fall apart. After he made it up the length of the arm, he tied the end into a few knots before snipping off the extra, proceeding to grab the hole at the end of the tube that he made and fold it over itself, continuing to pull little by little to turn it inside out. After that was done, he reached into a bag underneath the desk to rip out some cotton from the rest of the mass, stuffing it in the fabric tube and to the end with a pair of metal tweezers. It began to inflate with each thrust of the material, a mitten-shaped hand starting to fill out.

Making sure not to overstuff it and strain the thread, he left the last quarter of the tube empty, stitching the cloth where the cotton inside ended before stuffing the rest. Finally done, with this part of the arm, he looked over to the blue-skinned puppet, a mournful line forming in his lips as she stared off blankly at the ceiling. Reaching over, he carefully dragged her ragdoll body closer, inspecting the stump where she had lost her arm in that cranking machine. He had stitched it shut the night he had gotten back, but instead of a sudden welcomed surprise, all he could hear in his mind were the pained screams that accompanied the loud tearing of fabric. Entirely too loud. He screwed his eyes shut and hissed through his nose, reaching for his scissors as he tentatively cut the stitches apart.

"Second verse, same as the first." He breathed out, narrowing his focus down to removing the bits of string before bringing the arm he made for comparison. It was a little longer than the other, and the hand was a little smaller, but it was roughly the same size and, assuming everything went to plan, she would be able to use both. After a moment of hesitation, he strung a new threat through the needle and finally brought the two pieces together, looking at the gaping puppet for any sort of response before pushing through her side of the felt. He began looping through the pieces again, in through her stump and out through the arm as he carefully turned her body over to continue making progress. He ignored the game playing through his earbuds, his ears perked up for any sarcastic remarks or outbursts of pain as he made it to the other end. After a moment of no reaction, he continued to stitch around in another circle, overlapping the threads he already put in to make it tighter. After finishing, he looked again, eyes wide as he scanned her body for anything. He started sewing again but stopped himself halfway, letting his expectations fall flat before he really did go insane.

He tied the knot and cut off the excess, her head lolling back as he picked her up. With a grim laugh, he put his hand inside, sliding it into the sleeve that led into her head before experimentally closing and opening her mouth.

"Well Franklin, you did your best." He said to himself in the most feminine voice he could manage while moving her mouth in conjunction to his words, which was to say, nasally and squeaky and not even remotely passable.

"Yeah, I guess I did." He replied morbidly, looking up at the ceiling with a frustrated sigh. "But it wasn't enough to bring you back."

"So what are you gonna do now?" He asked himself through the puppet, to which he leaned back in the chair.

"To be Frank, I don't have a damn clue." He smiled at his own joke, moving his hand back and forth to shake her head.

"That was terrible."

"And I thought you wanted to make a talk show with me." He placed his other hand over his chest, turning his head away with a sniff. After a small laugh, he decided to end his desecration there, sliding his hand out and kicking out from his desk to collapse sideways in the bed. He exhaled through his green comforter, turning his head to look at the prone puppet with a half-lidded eye.

"Well, you wanted to get out and see the host-world. At least you got one wish." He said, his former companion not responding. He laid there for a few long moments, just staring at her dead body and wondering why he wasn't crying his eyes out over her loss. She had been a living, breathing creature that depended on him to get the both of them out of that nightmare in one piece, and he had failed in that.

And yet, he didn't feel that sad. He mostly felt empty and at a loss of what to do from here. He had cried more over pet dogs and cats than he had for her when she passed. All that was left was a pit of guilt in his gut, and he had done everything he could think of to get rid of it. After coming back from the hospital, he had wondered more than once if the lie that he fed to the cops and his family was true. The puppets coming to life? Being chased by Rosco? The tea party? It all felt so distant right now, and if it weren't the photos Anthony Pierson left behind, he'd probably be more convinced that the puppet laying beside him was just a souvenir he managed to pick up in the panic.

With that lingering on his mind, he looked back over to his desk, his sleep-deprived body protesting along with gravity as he sat back up to open the nearest drawer. Inside, most of the junk he had kept in there had been cleaned out to make room for the pistol that sat inside, still sitting in it's holster and last he checked, still loaded. His Uncle Jerry, Russell's dad, had insisted that he keep it with him since he decided to go back to his apartment instead of staying with them for a time, and paranoid as he was, he wasn't in a mental state to refuse it.

Grabbing it, he set it on the end of the desk, deciding that he actually needed to sleep tonight. Or try to, anyway. If anything came knocking, they would have to get through two locked doors to get to him, and then hope that he wasn't behind already pulling the trigger. No matter who came in, they would still have a human body, and if the dead puppet laying beside him was any indication of how these things operated, they would die just as easily as anything else.

But that was a worry for later. Right now, he needed to get at least eight hours, dreamless if he could help it. He walked over to the switch next to the door and flicked it off, leaving only his desk-light on as he kicked off his old sneakers and lifted the comforter. Climbing underneath the sheets, he pulled them back over his chest before seeing the puppet tumble back between the desk and his bed, plastic eyes clicking off the wood as her head hit it. With a frown, he decided to turn her back over, pulling the puppet under his arm to lay against his body. He huffed through his nose with an embarrassed smile for doing so. He hadn't slept with a stuffed animal since he was six, but he felt that he owed her at least this much. If he couldn't properly mourn her loss, then at least he could feel a little closer to her, for one night at least.

Strangely enough, he didn't find any trouble sleeping like he had expected. After turning off the lamp on his desk, his eyes closed when he hit the pillow, and he felt like the momentum was still going, making him fall further and further away as his mind dropped into the soft enveloping shadows. All he could remember was slurring a few last words with a yawn.

"Goodnight, Scout."

-xXx-

_"Welcome to the backstage of Mortimer's Handeemen!"_

_The kids in front of him jumped up and down, children of varying ages waving their little fists excitedly while he and the parents stood in the back with varying enthusiasm. He probably occupied the lower ring of that mature excitement, but at least Emily was-_

_"Emily?" He called out, his eyes scanning the crowd of multicolor clothes and bouncing fuzzy heads for her. He felt panic gripping at him as he gently moved through the crowd with polite words while the others looked on with frowns._

_"Excuse me," he made his way to the young stage assistant, or whatever she was, the same manner of frown decorating her previously beaming face, "did you see a little girl with blonde hair? Five? Big pink bow on her head?"_

_"Oh, Emily?" The woman smiled, the same warmth she used before with the kids not making it to her eyes. She pointed past the other backgrounds._

_"Your little one got an extra special pass, remember?" She said in the same condescending tones she used for the kids behind him. "She gets to see none other than Mortimer Handee himself, and later she'll even star in the first episode of the newest season! Isn't that neat?"_

_"Yeah, thanks lady." He shouldered past her, apologizing as he passed through the intersection of decorated backdrops and props. He didn't know why, but just the mention of Mortimer made him nauseous, and all he knew was that he had to get Emily back with the main group. Now._

_He passed painted wooden scene after scene, flat clouds hanging by wire above him while the spotlights lit his way. A bakery. A science classroom. An art studio. Even a tree house. All of it was surrounded by cameras, one crashing to the floor with a cacophony of breaking glass and colliding plastic, but that was hardly what bothered him right now._

_"Emily!" He called out in a concerned, commanding tone. Where was she? He knew that the room was small, but right now it seemed to stretch out into one long hallway, his eyes scanning between the props to look for another intersection, only to find a brick wall. Then, as if on cue, he found a narrow hallway leading off to the right. The corridor seemed dark, but at the end was another spotlight, lighting up some small farmhouse in the distance. He felt a sense of foreboding doom in the space between where he was and there, like the unseen horrors he hadn't feared since he was a kid would go from looming to leaping upon him. But he had to. There was no other path, and there was nowhere else Emily could have gone._

_Summoning his courage, he ran through the darkness. He had originally intended to walk through, but something behind him spurred him onward like a spooked rabbit, sprinting strides stomping against the new carpeted floor. The light was getting bigger, but he seemed to be getting slower, sinking further and further into the ground as he made it ever closer. It was only after he passed into the radius of the light did he stop, falling to his knees as sandpaper scraped at his inhaling lungs. He continued to breathe, sweat beading down his brow and the rest of his body._

_But he wasn't just exhausted, it was hot. Insects sung in the heat underneath the sun hanging by strings from the ceiling, sunspots blackening the shingles of the roof. It was as rusty red as an old barn, twin rocking chairs squeaking as a light forgiving breeze blew over him. Finally, he stood up, walking over the carpet and into the wooden steps that led to the shadowed porch. Even before he stood on his toes to reach for the handle of the screen door, he heard a feminine humming tune echoing from further in, accompanied by the smell of baking bread and cherries. The door twanged as he stepped inside, ignoring the smell of dust and the rustic decor as he looked into the various rooms._

_"Emilyyyy!" He yelled in a high-pitched voice that hadn't belonged to him in a long time, brows furrowed as he frantically searched for her. Then he came across a checkered tile floor and small kitchen with boarded walls, the smell of baking strongest in here. His eyes widened as he spotted a head of blonde hair, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he rushed over to hug the girl from behind._

_"Emily! I'm so glad I found you!" He exclaimed, his little arms tightly embracing her as he rocked back and forth excitedly._

_"Oh my, well this is quite the surprise!"_

_His eyes narrowed in confusion as he backed away from the sudden sound of a sweet southern drawl, her hair appearing much more stiff and wooden than it did a minute ago. The figure in a red dress and apron twirled around and lifted into the air, showing that she had no lower half underneath. All the same, the woman turned the smooth wooden curves of her smiling face towards him, polished and painted eyes glittering from the sunlight shining through the window._

_"You're not Emily!" He accused, feeling insulted while he looked around the room. "Where's Emily?!"_

_"Emily." The woman repeated thoughtfully, tasting the word with uncomfortable hooded eyes before she spoke again. "Well, I'm afraid she's not here, sugar-pie. She hasn't been here for some time now. But she did just leave."_

_"Which way did she go?!" He yelled, looking around again as if she would be standing behind one of the chairs near the kitchen table._

_"Now now, you just calm yourself, little one." She said, leaning over and placing her hands on her dress as if she had knees. "I'm sure she'll be by soon. In the meantime, why don't you sit down and share some pie with me? It's fresh from the oven." She emphasized with a smile, turning around mid-air to put some oven-mitts on while he stood there, conflicted on what to do. He felt the urge to follow her comforting suggestion, but his heart was beating against his ears, every energetic muscle in his small body screaming at him to run back the way he came._

_"You know hun, as many kids as I've seen come and go through this house, I've never seen you before." She said, turning around to bring two slices of cherry pie to the table, deliciously steaming as the fruit oozed from underneath the crust. She set them on the table, floating above the seat of a chair while another skidded out from the table by itself. She motioned for him to sit down._

_"What's your name?" She asked, leaning her chin on her interlaced hands._

_"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." He said sheepishly, looking down at the laces of his shoes._

_"Oh, silly me. Where are my manners?" She floated up, lifting the edges of her dress in a curtsy as she bowed her head. "My name is Daisy. Daisy Danger, but don't pay that nickname no mind." She looked back up to him, waving her wrist in a circular motion to him._

_"And your name, my fine young man?"_

_"I-" he stuttered, looking back towards the exit to the kitchen before taking a step back, "I . . . I have to go."_

_"Oh my, well that is a shame." She replied with a sad grin, floating off the chair as both pulled back under the table. He was ready to bolt as she came towards him, but instead she turned towards the counter, leaning down as a drawer opened to pick up a roll of aluminum foil._

_"Well, I suppose there's no helping it. You're still looking for that Emily of yours, right?" She looked back at him as he nodded, pulling out a sheet of the metal before cutting down on it with the top of the box's teeth._

_"Tell you what sunshine, why don't I just wrap this up for you to take? A hero like you can't look for your friend on an empty stomach, now can they?"_

_Once again, he only nodded, his anxiety fading as he rocked on his shoes. Daisy scooped up the dessert into a paper plate and wrapped it up, floating down to place into his eager little hands. He clutched it to his chest as she patted his head, her wooden digits brushing through his fuzzy hair as she looked down at him with sweet eyes._

_"I'll see you next time, little one. And remember, be careful out there." She warned with a lecturing finger. "You don't know what kind of trouble might come looking for you."_

_"Thank you Ms. Daisy." He said as he looked down at the foil package, his mouth salivating as he turned around to walk out of the room and through the hallway, the sound of Daisy humming behind him disappearing as he opened the screen door._

Sometime during the night, he moved his arm, absentmindedly scratching it as he turned over. 

"Get up you giant sack of shit. Slo-"

With a startled yelp, his eyes snapped open, immediately reaching for his gun. Mid-way to pushing himself up, he fell back down as he instinctively flinched away from whatever his hand just smacked. His first thought was a cat, but-

"Son of a bitch!" He yelled out as the back of his head connected with the headrest, curling up and cradling his aching brain. He stayed there uttering painful vowels as he twisted in the sheets.

"Ow."

Hearing someone else in his room, his hand slapped back down on the desk, touching around repeatedly as he looked for the missing firearm. He was about to turn on his lamp, but a moving light near the center of the floor froze him in place. Two lights, actu-

"Holy Shit." He whispered, looking on with wide eyes as he saw the blue-skinned puppet getting up on her own, pushing herself up onto her torso to stand up straight as she uttered a "fucking hell."

"Scout!" He half-yelled, half laughed, throwing off the comforter-

"Freeze you fucker!"

He stopped mid-stand, almost tripping in the process as he stood as still as he ever had in his life, arms in the air. Clutched in her arms was his pistol, the grip planted on the carpet with one hand on the hammer and the other on the trigger, the barrel pointed directly at him.

"Alright you giant asshole, you're going to answer some questions for me." She started slowly, narrowing her eyes and subsequently her lights at his face. "Like how the hell did I get here? And where's MY host?"

"Scout, it IS me. I am your host." He answered as calmly as he could, his face flushed with fear and rage.

"How do I know it's you?"

" **WHO ELSE WOULD KNOW YOUR NAME?!** " he growled through clenched teeth.

"How do I know you're not one of Mortimer's tricks, huh?"

He was about to roar out his disbelief, but after a second and a huff, he shut his mouth. That . . . was actually a fair point. She probably knew what that monster was capable of more than he did, and he doubted that he would have suspected anything else if he were in her position. But how to prove himself? The last time he had seen her, he had a black bag over his head and his lips were sewn shut.

"Nod your head."

He looked back over to her. "What?"

"My host had a specific way they nodded. So do it."

"I don't nod differently than anyone else! What is this going to-"

Scout pulled back the hammer.

Or rather, she let out a grunt as she pulled her arm back, but nothing happened. She looked at him for a second before trying it again, continuing to groan as she kept flexing her arm to move the device. The hammer itself wavered little in her grip, and with a sigh, he decided to follow her demands before she shot him by accident. He nodded, a bored expression on his face as she watched him with widening eyes.

"Do you want me to shake my head, too?"

"Shut up you asshole." Scout said, dropping the gun before crawling across the floor and hopping up to his lap as he sat down, hugging his belly with closed eyes that made the room black once more. Breathing in relief, he lowered his arms, patting her back with one hand and turning on his lamp with the other.

"I'm glad you're ok." Scout said, drawing his gaze back down to her before he looked away and huffed with a smile.

"You know, I might actually feel the same way if you hadn't just pointed a gun at my head."

"I was aiming for your shoulder." She said, looking back up at him with a grin. "And come on. I know you missed me too."

He shook his head, refusing to look down at her until he patted her head to turn her light off, rubbing his hand over it after. "Yeah. I guess I did."

They stayed like that for a while, just sitting there, grateful for each other's company. He felt more tired than ever, but this was worth it. The nights he stayed up were worth this moment, and if he had known this would have worked, he would have done it a thousand times over.

"Aw, you crying up there, gigantor?"

He startled at her voice, rubbing the wetness off of his face with his arm. "No."

"You big wimp." She teased. "Just try not to make my head too wet, alright?"

"Hmmph." He hummed, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. After a while he gave up, breathing deep and long whines like a dog while fresh tears flowed down his face, Scout patting his side all the while. After a few minutes of this, he leaned his head back into his pillow, wiping his face free of tears and snot while he returned to breathing normally again.

"So," Scout finally leaned back, looking around, "this is the Host-world, huh?"

"It's the inside of my apartment," he laughed, rubbing the last of the residual goop from the corners of his eyes with his fingers, "but yeah. It's the Host-world."

"Sweet. Whew." She wiped her head with the back of her hand. "I thought for sure that I died back there. You know, after my arm was ripped off."

"Oh no, you were dead alright." He scratched the back of his neck, almost losing it when he saw her slack-jawed. "Well, I assumed you were, anyway. You were limp and," he lifted a questioning brow as he looked away, "unconscious? For a week at least. That was until I stitched a new arm onto your body."

"Yeah . . . thanks for that." She fell back onto his knee. "A whole week?"

"Yep." He leaned back on his arms. "Dead as a doornail."

"Ugh, don't say it like that." She rubbed her closed eyes with her hands. Then she opened them to look at her new pink one before turning it over. "It's actually not that bad. Do a lot of hosts know how to do this, or is it just you, old ladies, and crazy sentient puppets?"

"Nope, just me." He looked over and reached over to grab his tablet off the desk. "I used to make little stuffed animals for my niece when she was little, but I haven't messed with this kind of stuff for a long time. It's nothing fancy, but I figured if you came back, you might need one."

"Yeah, if." She shook her head before looking up at him. "What's that thing?"

"It's a tablet. Egyptians used to chisel out hieroglyphs on them to tell the tales of their people. Now we use them to read books, watch animal videos, and tell us when to wake up. Which for me, still isn't for another three hours." He turned it off and put it back on the desk, looking down at her. "But I doubt that I'm going to comply with that schedule after this. You mind if we continue this conversation in the morning?"

She hesitated, looking around the room longingly for a minute before looking back up to him. "You do look like shit. I guess I can wait a little longer."

"Thank you. That's exactly what I needed to hear." He said less sarcastically than he had intended, scooping her up under the arms to place her on the desk.

"H-Hey! Host!" She yelled, struggling out of his hands as he set her down. "I can move by myself you know! I don't need you treating me like a fucking baby."

"Alright alright, calm down, necropuppet. I was just trying to help." He snickered before leaning down to grab the gun and strap it back in the holster that was next to his bed. She watched as he did so, her eyes narrowing as he placed it next to her.

"Hey."

"Just so we're clear, if you point that gun at me again, I'm going to punt you out the nearest window."

"That's not- wait, what's a punt?"

"Hopefully you won't have to find out." He stated wryly, looking up at her with a tired smile. "What's up?"

"Are we safe?" She said, a timid expression settling on her face as she asked. His smile flattened into a thin line as he bit his lip.

"Honestly, I don't know." He said as he sat down. "Glensburg, the place where Mortimer and the rest of them are, is about half an hour away, but I don't know how far Riley goes to kidnap people. I don't suppose you would know anything about that?"

Scout only shook her head. "We never knew that she kidnapped hosts in the first place. She told us that they came in willingly, remember?"

"Right." He said, rubbing his eyes. "Anyway, I haven't seen a hair or hide of any of them, so I can only assume that either Mortimer stayed true to his word and let us go, or that they haven't found us yet. Either way, I don't think we'll be seeing them anytime soon, at least not in broad daylight. And if we do happen to see them," he patted the gun, "that's what this is for."

"That is so badass." She said with glee, rubbing her hand over the gun. "I've only seen stuff like this in those old westerns."

"This isn't a toy, Scout." He stated firmly, her looking back up to him as he brushed her hand off it. "It's for emergencies only. Specifically evil-puppet related emergencies. And maybe burglars." He yawned out the last as she glared at him.

"No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think I was pointing it at you?" She spat, her eyes widening immediately after before she looked away. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"

He patted her head to shut her up, waving off her words with the other hand while he squatted down to meet her eye level. "It's fine, Scout. I get it. This is some scary shit we're dealing with. We just gotta be smart about how we handle it and we'll be fine. Alright?"

Scout shoved his hand away from her head with a small growl before acknowledging his words. She crossed her arms across her chest. "Yeah, I get it. Just, don't go thinking that I'm a pushover, alright? You might not have known me that long, but I can take care of myself just fine. I've been doing it for a while now." She mumbled out the last. He paused at that, stopping himself short from trying to pat her head again. So he shrugged instead.

"Good to know I have someone watching my back then." He stated, closing his eyes with another yawn as he backed up into the bed, laying down to throw the blanket over himself again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pass out. Before I do, do you need any kind of-"

Before he could finish, Scout hopped from the desk to the bed, lifting his arm and snuggling against his side while she placed it back over her body like the safety bar of a roller-coaster. She turned her head.

"Need any kind of what?"

"Place to sleep." He answered dryly.

"I don't think I do sleep. At least, not in the same way you hosts do. It's hard to explain." She said, using his body as a headrest. He leaned over to turn the lamp off before placing his arm back over her.

"Fine by me. Just don't keep me up. And I tend to roll in my sleep, so apologies in advance."

"So don't roll then."

He turned his head, too tired to argue with a pint-sized puppet at four AM. "Goodnight Scout."

"Goodnight, Host."


	4. Waky Waky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The host and the puppet in their natural habitat. Not the most exciting of chapters, but 'wholesome' and informational.

Hearing came first, unfortunately in the form of a piercing single-toned alarm. He was slow to react, but when he finally did, he reached his hand out from underneath the covers, squinting through one eye to tap his finger against the hazy neon-red circle next to the equally bright and blurry green numbers indicating the time. Once the alarm on his tablet silenced, he became aware of some small, blanket-covered lump pushing past his arm to breach the top of her purple-haired head through the hole.

"Finally!" Scout gasped as she popped out, mouth open wide in a gasp as she dragged her upper body out by her arms like a miniature zombie. He's raised a brow at the scene of her pulling herself up onto the desk for a second, wondering if he was still dreaming for a moment until the events of seven and a half hours ago came flooding back into his groggy brain. Meanwhile, the blue-skinned puppet flipped herself into her back, her little chest raising and lowering as she breathed through her gaping Pac-Man maw.

"About fucking time, Host. Do you know how hard it is to breathe under one of those things?!" She yelled at him, pushing herself up by her arms while she glared at him.

"Actually, I do." He said, wincing away from her abrasive voice as the springs squeaked from him turning in the bed and flipping the covers off. He yawned, "What were you doing under there, anyway?"

"Trying to get out!" She fully pushed herself up and onto her torso, the bottom of her blood-stained shirt gathering around her midsection. "You dragged me in there after you rolled over. I tried everything to get your attention, but you sleep like a fucking log! Geez." She shook her head, reaching up to run her mitten-hands down her face. He could only chuckle at her exasperation.

"Sorry about that. Hope you weren't too uncomfortable." He said as he stood up and clasped his hands behind his head to stretch his elbows forward. Scout only huffed as she crossed her arms with a sigh.

"It's fine. Just, I don't know, warn me next time?"

"What are you talking about? I gave you ample warning before we went to bed."

She put her hands on her hips. "Yeah. You told me you rolled in your sleep. You didn't say anything about your arm dragging me under the blanket like a fucking graboid!"

"They have Tremors on regular cable?" He raised a brow at her comment as he walked over to the rustic wooden cabinet lining the wall, pulling out a drawer and fishing out his clothes for the day. Meanwhile, Scout fell forward and shuffled herself to the other end of the desk as he did so, stopping just before the ledge to sit up again.

"Don't change the subject. That really freaked me out." She shook her head. "And then, if that wasn't enough, you start talking in your sleep like a fucking crazy person! Did you know that?!"

"Huh. This is the first I've heard of it." He said thoughtfully, putting his clothes on the table and turning around with knit brows. "What exactly was I saying?"

"I . . . don't know." She admitted, a loud and obnoxious explanation caught in her throat before she even had one. Closing her open mouth, she shrugged. "Most of it was muffled. Something about someone named Emily?"

"That's weird." He had to scratch his neck at that one, leaning against the cabinet as he looked up into the speckled white ceiling for answers. "The only Emily I ever knew was in . . . third grade I think? But that can't be right." He said to himself. After a moment of fruitless contemplation, he shrugged in turn as he scooped up his clothes and walked towards the desk. "Either way, if it was important enough, I'm sure that I'll remember it sooner or later."

"Hey, whatever you say, gigantor. Let's just try to find a different sleeping arrangement tonight, alright? I don't like being trapped like that."

"Right." He replied absentmindedly, his mind going back to the other 'hosts' hanging in Human Resources like slabs of beef in a meat-locker. The thought made his skin crawl, and it just made him hope that the police he sent their way didn't end up like that. He was so caught up in the mental imagery of their bagged, writhing bodies that he almost didn't notice she small grunts that Scout made as she pulled herself up the side of his shirt. He snorted with a smile at the sight.

"What are you doing?"

"Hitching a ride." she said, making her way up behind his arm. "What's it look like I'm doing?"

"I don't know, mountain climbing?" He chuckled, turning around and making her go "Whoa" when she swung with his momentum. "Didn't you say you could get around on your own?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" She huffed, finally making it up to his shoulder. She hitched her top jaw over it and started pulling herself up into a sitting position to rest. She took a second to breathe.

"Ah, that's better." She patted her hand against his ear and pointed towards the door. "Alright Host, mush!"

They started moving, but the only direction they went was down, Scout letting out a surprised yelp as she hung by his ear and desperately held on as her handhold shook violently in tandem with Franklin's hearty laughing. He let out a few "ows" that strained between his crackling voice.

"HOST LET ME UP!" She cried out, her voice bobbing along with her body until Franklin finally stood up from being doubled over, one hand helping her back up onto her seat while the other was wiping tears from his eyes. Scout could only stare wide-eyed at the scene, still firmly holding on to his ear.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She asked, her concerned voice enough to gain a few more mild aftershocks as he held up his hand.

"No, sorry Scout I just-" he wiped his arm across his wet eyes as he breathed in a deep and satisfied breath, "you kind of killed me a little on the inside."

"Are . . . you going to be ok?" She asked in such a genuine tone that he had to suppress another bout of laughs though his quaking lips.

"I'll be fine, Scout. It's nothing a little breakfast won't cure." He said, his chest expanding and flattening in it's normal rhythm after a second. "Jesus, that just made my day."

"By killing you a little?" She asked skeptically.

"It's a host thing. I'm sure you'll catch on soon enough. But for now," He replied with a grin as he turned the knob, opening the door and throwing his arm out.

"Welcome, to the Host World." He said in the best Richard Attenborough impression he could muster. Needless to say, Scout looked unimpressed.

"I'm no expert when it comes you Hosts or how you do things, but I'm pretty sure this is still your apartment."

He dropped his arm as he walked over to the couch. "Yeah, well until I get around, it's about as much of the Host World as you're going to see.

"Get around what?" She asked.

"That thing over there." He pointed towards the window

She turned her head, looking through the sunlit window to see a small house on the other side of the street. Beyond it were waves of golden grasses moving with the wind like waves of an ocean. Farther yet was a forest of conifer trees, fluffy coats of needles intersecting one another to block the shaded view of anything that might lay inside. All of it moved upward into a hill that lost any sort of definition beyond the subtle greens of the forest and browns of the revealed stony ledges going back down the hill like a slide of dirt. Scout seemed awestruck by the view, her orange eyes drinking in the sight while her side mouth gave the slightest gape.

"That's so cool." She said softly, as if afraid to disturb the awe she was feeling. He didn't personally see it as anything new or interesting, but to this being of felt and what he assumed to be limited experience with the world, it must have held some kind of foreign beauty to the puppet. Scratching the back of his head with a sigh, he grabbed her off his shoulder, to which she immediately started swearing and punching his arm until he set her down.

"What the fuck, Host? I thought we were going somewhere."

"We were. I was going to make you look out the window as a distraction to launch you off to the couch while I take a shower and get dressed."

"Wait, why?" Her expression immediately softened. "Can't you just, bring me along to do whatever you're doing?"

He laughed at that. "Did you want to see me naked?"

"Naked?" She said with a screwed in face, saying it as if she were tasting the word. "What the fuck does naked mean?"

He had to think for a minute on that one. "How do you swear like a sailor and not know what naked means?"

She frowned as she crossed her arms. "Hey, I'm new to all this ok? Don't fucking ask that like the answer's obvious."

"Alright, calm down. You're right. That's my bad." He patted his chest for emphasis before sighing. How to explain this. "Well, you know, without your clothes on. With just your skin and nothing else. Well, felt in your case, I guess."

"What are you talking about? Our clothes don't come off." She said, pulling on the sides of her shirt and letting go. "Not unless-"

She abruptly cut off, her eyes going wide before suddenly scanning the room. "Uh, Host, there aren't any . . . other hosts like Riley around here, are there?"

He raised a brow at that. "No, but what's that got to do with- oooooh." 

He felt a little more awake now, suddenly realizing the heavy implications of her reaction. He knelt down to her level, smiling and patting her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "It's fine, Scout. Hosts take their clothes off all the time. Most of the time of their own volition. You're not gonna find many of them that gut each other like, well, like what you guys went through." He finished on that sour note.

"And you're sure about that?" She asked cautiously as he stood back up.

"Trust me, Scout. There are people like that in the world I'm sure, but assholes like that are the exception, not the example. We'll be fine." He said, but she only continued to scan the door and windows with restless twitching eyes. He hated to see her like this, but he had to take a shower at some point. His lips flattened into a line as he thought of a solution.

"Hmm. Hold on for a second. I've got an idea." He stated as he suddenly turned around, Scout snapping her head up as he disappeared back into the bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

He was back as suddenly as he left, looking down at the screen of his tablet as he got rid of most of his tabs. "Finding you something to watch."

"Oh sweet!" She leaned on the armrest excitedly. "You have cable?"

"I can do you one better." He set the long and flat device before her looking about the size of a small table next to her. She looked in wonder at the white screen with a red logo up in the left-hand corner, the middle peppered with different images of cartoons, games, and live-action videos.

"This is Youtube. And it's going to be your best friend for the next half-hour while I take care of stuff."

She looked it over, her eyes darting from video to video before knitting her brows. "Ok, but where's the remote?"

"You don't need one. Look." He leaned over and tapped one of the thumbnails in the corner, the screen taking a moment to switch over to a page where the video took up about half the screen. He pressed the play button and suddenly two voices came out, Scout startling back in tandem with their sudden screams in response to some horned monster chasing them with a blood-curdling shriek.

_"Fucking move it, man!"_

_"I am pressing the button! It doesn't go any faster than this!"_

"Whoops, sorry." Franklin hurriedly pressed one of the other videos in the column, the page switching from a set of burly claws coming down on the camera to the lyrics of 'Why Should I Worry?' from _Oliver and Company._ "I think we've both had enough horror for a while."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." Scout breathed, taking her hand off her chest before opening her arms wide to grab and slide the tablet over her belly. "So you just touch the channel you want to get there?"

"That's it." He said, though a realization caught up to him. "Actually, now that I think about it, You might not be able to-"

She tapped the red logo in the corner with the tip of her mitten-hand, bringing her right back to the home screen.

"Oh, cool. Now I can look through more stuff." She looked up at him, looking like a child with a new toy. "What were you saying I can't do?"

"Uh, no, it's nothing." After she frowned, he explained further. "I just thought you wouldn't be able to use the touch-screen."

"Why?"

"That kind of stuff doesn't usually react to fabric or other inanimate objects touching it." After she tilted her head, he waved it off, turning around and walking past the kitchenette. "I'll explain it later. Right now I have a hot date with a steamy shower."

Scout nodded to the screen, already engrossed in the next thing she was tapping. "If she has a twin, shoot her down before you get her pregnant. She's crazy and talks to herself in the mirror while plotting to kill you."

He had to stop for a second before he looked over his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"I saw it on TV once. I'll explain it later."

After another moment of trying to figure out exactly what the hell she had been watching, he shook his head of the thought and closed the door behind him as he stepped into the bathroom. He shucked his clothes off and grabbed his toothbrush, making his way into the tub and closing the curtains so he could turn the temperature knob and pull it out. After a sputtering delay, liquid TLC showered down in a steamy rain, enveloping his body in an almost burning pleasure before he stuck the gel-covered bristles of his toothbrush into his mouth and once again settled into the comfort of the daily rut he had so tenderly missed in the past week.

Except everything wasn't completely back to normal; Scout was a literal living reminder that there was something more out there, something beyond the familiarity of home and infinitely more dangerous. Owen Gubberson had learned that the hard way. Half of his corpse was rotting in a sewing room as a testament to that. And Anthony? Who knew where that guy was. The last tape they found made him sound drunk and off of his fucking rocker, trying to grab Mortimer so that he could validate his claims to the news and police both.

He turned off the water and leaned out from behind the curtain, reaching for a green towel and started drying himself off. What was the name of his group? Vox naritus? Varitus? Something latin. It might be worth looking into if the police had trouble dealing with Mortimer and the rest. Though in all honesty, he was probably just overthinking it. Scout and the other puppets could be harmed, and she died. So could the Handeemen. But she was also brought back to life with what he could only consider as minimal effort, even with the nights he spent working on making a replacement for her arm. And even that didn't really explain exactly how she came back to life, if she really ever died at all.

But, nothing would come of him worrying about things he couldn't control at the moment. He just had to wait until something happened. Either the police would come back with some stories to tell, or not at all, in which case the situation would only escalate until the Handeemen were swiss cheese. Or Mortimer would have some kind of giant monster and kick-start Puppetpocalypse. But he didn't want to dwell on that, so he just put on his drawers, his socks, his new camouflage sweatpants, his neon-green T-shirt, and decided what he wanted in his omelette. After opening the door, Scout looked over from the couch.

"Finally! I've been yelling for you like ten minutes. What the hell took you so long?"

"Being naked has its privileges." He said as if that answered everything. After tossing the door back with his other arm, he prodded over. "And in my defence, whatever you were yelling about couldn't have been that important. You didn't even get off the couch."

"It's important enough! Look!" She grunted as she tilted the tablet up in her arms, turning it towards him with an indignant glare as he narrowed his eyes at the red and white lining the image where the video was.

"Don't tell me; you want to sample the 13 herbs and spices lining those chicken tenders at a low price?"

"No you moron! That commercial came up on my channel and it won't fuck off!" She growled as she turned it back towards her. "and every time I touch it, it brings me to some other place that isn't even Youtube. It's bullshit!"

"Hmm. That does sound like a dilemma. Unfortunately, that also sounds more like your problem." He said, walking back over to the kitchen area while she gawked at him from her seated position.

"What? Come on Host! Help me out!"

"Gee, you know," he said, grabbing a small, clean pan from the dishrack, "I'd love to help you Scout. Really, I would, but I don't think a moron would be capable of such a delicate task."

"Is that what this is about?" When she didn't get an answer, she groaned. "Fine. I'm sorry. Can you help me out now?"

"No, now I don't really feel like it." He answered aloofly. "Maybe after I eat."

"Come ooooooon! I'm trying to watch this host fall off a roof it it stopped just before he hit the ground!"

"That does sound funny. Too bad I can't do anything." He shrugged.

"Come on! Fucking get over here, Host!"

"No." He went over to the fridge and got out a carton of eggs, some butter, and some soft-shell tacos.

"Please?"

"No." He opened the freezer and got out a small box of breakfast sausages.

"Please?"

"No."

"Please!"

"Nah." He turned the temperature on the stovetop to medium.

"Fucking pretty please with sugar and shit! Come on!" After he fetched the spatula, he heard her finally relent. "Look, Host . . . I'm sorry, alright? I won't call you a moron again. I promise. Can you help me with this please?"

"Weeeeeeeeeeellll," He sighed, turning the heat off on the stove before turning around with a grin. "I guess I've got the time, since you put it so nicely."

"Asshole." She deadpanned, unable or not caring to hide the corners of her mouth lifting up. He only held his smug expression as far as leaning down to reach towards the screen. 

"For future reference, this thing we're getting rid of is called an ad."

"Well no shit. All It does is add fucking frustration." She said, crossing her arms with a huff.

"And that what you did there is called a pun. It can be a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, so don't use them too often."

"The hell are you talking about?" She questioned when her eyes tracked his finger pressing down on the almost indiscernible little black square in the corner of the ad, the lengths of tender and crispy chicken meat being replaced by the shaky image of a man in his mid-thirties rolling sideways off of a single-story roof and falling flat on his back, to which Franklin cringed away.

"Oof. That looked like it hurt."

"Wha- Scout guffawed, looking between him and the screen. "What did you press?"

"The little X in the corner. Most ads have one. And so do these thirteen pages you got when you kept clicking it." He flicked the X on each tab.

"So that's what an X is." Scout said as she watched until he got rid of all but Youtube.

"That's right; you can't read english, can you? I forgot about that." He stood back up, leaning against the side of the couch. "That might be a problem if you're looking for something specific."

"Yeah, I was wondering what all that shit was around these channels." She tapped the next video, giggling at the sight of a kitten swatting at the key of a piano. "Hehe, look at her! She thinks she's a puppet."

He stood back up and clapped his hands up and down as if he'd dirtied them. "Welp, looks like my work is done here, little lady. Now it's time for me to hit this dusty trail and grab some grub."

She looked back up at him. "What are you making?"

"A breakfast taco. It's nothing fancy, but it hits the spot on a day like this." He flicked on the stove light before pausing, giving an inquisitive brow over his shoulder. "Why? You hungry?" 

"Mmmn . . ." She drifted off, rubbing her thumbs across the ends of the device in small circles. "Yes and no? It's kinda like sleep; we don't really get hungry like you hosts do. But I think we get cravings?"

"You don't sound too sure." He pointed out, fully turning around. "Have you ever eaten anything before?"

"Well, yeah." She answered, her focus somewhere towards the ground in front of the couch. "plenty of times, but . . . not when we wanted to. And definitely never WHAT we wanted to."

Franklin had let her words drop off into a short and awkward silence, the context and cadence of her last words convincing him that this was probably one of many future subjects that didn't require any unnecessary digging. Instead he uncrossed his arms and turned around, twisting the knob and cutting up the frozen links of sausage with a knife. "Alright. Two it is. I can't promise that it'll be the _best_ thing in the world, but, well,-"

"Host," she said, compensating for his lack of words, "trust me, you couldn't fuck this up for me even if you wanted to. That much I can say."

"Geez, no pressure or anything." He answered, doing his best not to turn around, lest she see the shit-eating-grin on his face. "You want just plain eggs, an omelette with cheese, cheese and sausage, what do you want?"

"Just make it the same way you're having it."

"No preferences it is!" He sang, slicing off a bit of butter and placing it in the pan. As he went about sizzling the sausage in one pan and scrambling the eggs in the other, he hummed ' _Ghost Riders in the Sky_ ', flipping their solidified, pancake-esk remains and placing the layer of cheese, littering the inside with the cooked chunks of meat. After placing it in the shell that laid on a nearby paper plate, he began cracking the next two eggs and finished Scout's in the same manner.

"Soup's on." He called out, taking the two plates and placing them on the small wooden table in front of the couch. Scout finally looked up from his tablet and eyed the rolled up foodstuffs suspiciously.

"Pretty sure that's not soup."

"And I'm pretty sure that you have a lot of host-culture to catch up on. Scooch." He motioned for her to move down, but she narrowed her eyes at him.

"This is my seat. Get your own."

"You can't even use the arm. Come on."

"Fuck off and give my food!" She spat at him.

"You can have one, but not both." He stated, quickly scooping her up in his hands and dropping her from up high for her briefly screaming form to land on the cushion. Meanwhile, he deftly swiped his tablet and sat down in one motion, leaning forward to grab the plates. He set her's down next to her while she stood up, growling at him with her fists balled up.

"Ok, we need to lay down some fucking ground rules! Don't do that without warning me next time!"

"Rules of the jungle around here, sister. You sit in my seat, I move you." He brought his plate to the armrest, turning his head to her with a smile. "and come on; that had to have been at least a little bit fun, right?"

"That doesn't mean you can just do that whenever you want." She pouted, side-eyeing her breakfast taco.

"So you're not denying it?" He asked with a growing grin.

"Shut up." She sighed, her hunger or cravings or whatever seeming to overpower her latest upset with him as she looked around the plate before looking back at him. "Where's the forks and knives and shit?"

"No instruments needed." He said, picking up his taco in his hand to demonstrate. "This is what we hosts call finger-food. Or mitten-food for those less digitly inclined." He took a bite, savoring the gooey, acidic taste turning into a mess between his teeth. After swallowing, he noticed that Scout hadn't taken a bite of hers yet. 

"I mean, I can get those for you if you want. Not like it's a law or anything like that."

"No, it's fine. I got this." She said, leaning forward and grabbing both the sides with her hands. In retrospect, he probably should have cut hers in half to lighten the load, but after some awkward maneuvering of the bending tube in her clutches, she lifted it up to her mouth and bit down. Her teeth weren't like his; they were plastic and spaced apart, so her end took significantly more gnawing than his had. Eventually she managed to rip a ragged chunk off like a dog, chewing it in her mouth a few more times before swallowing what was still largely a solid piece down a hole he hadn't noticed before now. But he had noticed how her eyes were closed as she chewed, letting out a little satisfied noise in tandem with the gentle smile growing on the edges of her mouth. It was beyond weird seeing something like her swallow anything, but he was glad that she seemed to be enjoying herself.

"So you like me cookin'?"

She half-opened one eye in annoyance. "Don't stare at me while I eat you weirdo. And what's with that accent?"

"It was in a movie I was watching with my cousin. It's kinda stuck in my head, honestly." He said, going back to eating his own while she opened both eyes to him.

"What's he like?"

"Who, Russell?" He laughed. "Most grateful son of a bitch I ever knew. He'd give the shirt off his back for you if you needed it. And he's helped me out of more pickles than I care to count." He sighed and crossed one leg over another, reminiscing in the good moments he could attribute to Russell just existing next to him in his times of adversity. "In all my life, I've never known a straighter arrow than him. I owe him and his family a lot.”

"He sounds cool." She said softly, pausing in her gnawing to look up to him.

"He is cool." He admitted, taking another bite.

"So what about your family?"

His mind stopped mid-chew, hurriedly swallowing a second later as he faced her. "My family?"

"Yeah." She said, putting the end of her food down. "You know, like a mom? Dad? Brothers and sisters? Back when we were looking for the pieces to that pin, you said you had one."

A sour feeling lined his stomach as he looked away, coughing into his fist before turning the tablet back on. "Well, that's what I meant when I nodded, Scout. Russell, his mom Prim, his dad Jerry, that's who I meant."

"Oh." She said, sounding disappointed. With another sigh, he lifted his arm and popped open the arm like the lid to a cooler, reaching down inside and fetching a remote. "Say Scout," he waggled it his hand as her eyes opened in curiosity, "wanna see something cool?"

After she nodded, he pointed the device towards the TV and pushed the power button, the monitor lighting up to show a black and empty screen with the words 'Input One' in the left-hand corner. Scout knitted her brows in confusion.

"I thought you had cable."

"Oh no, I don't have any cable or satellite hooked up at all right now."

_"Then what's the point of living?!"_ she exasperated, her tiny hands in the air like she had been cursed by some malevolent god. She only stopped to glare at him when he started laughing.

"Relax, necropuppet. This isn't what I wanted to show you." Looking down, he tapped a few buttons on his kindle and suddenly the screen lit up, the familiar view of YouTube manifesting where darkness once stood and making his small companion drop her jaw in amazement.

"It's another tablet!"

"Not exactly. It's just a regular TV, but with a few special features. Russell helped me set this up when I first moved down here. We can put what we see on the tablet up there so we can both watch." He crossed his arms with a smile. "And because it's hooked up to the internet, we can watch just about anything we damn well please."

"What's the internet?" She asked.

"A convenient source of entertainment in the form of games, movies, shows, information, memes; It's got everything you wanted and things you never even knew you wanted."

"We're fucking unstoppable!" Scout jumped up and onto her stump with her fist pumping the air.

"You said it, little lady. Up high." He held out his hand and she jumped up to slap it with her mitten-hand. She didn't so much as slap it as she did brush it fast against his palm before falling flat on her face. He was about to ask if she was alright, but her arms pumped forward with a muffled "Woooooh!" escaping her prone form. The both of them laughed heartily as he helped her back up, just getting comfy in their respective places and picking the video they were going to watch.

That was when a light knocking on his front door sounded out, the both of them sitting silently for a few moments until a feminine voice called out.

"Franklin? Are you home?"

Immediately recognizing the voice, he growled silently as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things; I'm gonna be taking a break from this for a bit to finish my short-story/novelette/novel(?), So I'll either come back when I'm finished or do this for fun for a break every so often.
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy these new progressional drawings of Hibird! :
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/lisaurian/art/Hello-Puppets-OC-Hibird-Drawing-2-Part-1-839541231
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/lisaurian/art/Hello-Puppets-OC-Hibird-Drawing-2-Part-2-840029993
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/lisaurian/art/Hello-Puppets-From-the-Same-Cloth-Cover-840032359


	5. Desperately Hiding in the Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occupodo

"Franklin? Are you home?"

Immediately recognizing the voice, he growled silently through clenched teeth as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck me."

"Who's that?" Scout said, quiet caution trailing on the edge of her voice as she looked up at him.

"Someone I don't want to deal with right now." The back of his head thud into the cushion of the couch as he sighed and paused the video. After noticing Scout's questioning glances between himself and the door, he gave her a crooked smile and tried patting her head, which she immediately slapped away. "Relax. She's annoying, not dangerous. I'll send her off and we can keep watching TV."

"Oh, good. I can deal with annoying." She sat up on her torso. "They can't be any worse than you, anyway."

"Smartass." He chuckled.

"Frank? That you in there?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's me Zoe! Don't come in yet though. I'm, uh, naked."

There was a pause. "Alright . . . quick question-"

"I'm entertaining guests." He chortled. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"I think you're entertaining yourself." She retorted, a soft thump on the door. "Just get dressed and let me in."

"Give me a sec." He leaned over and scooped Scout up into his chest, the small puppet slapping him with her fists in protest.

"Hey!" She whisper-yelled, "The fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Finding you someplace to hide." He said, his eyes darting to his bedroom before shaking his head. "Unless you think you can pull off aToy Story and just sit there quiet."

"What? No." He was about to question her sanity, but the downcast look of her face and slumped shoulders stopped him in his tracks. 

"I'm tired of hiding like every fucking moment of my life is in danger. Like everyone around me is just going to stab me in the back if I crawl by them." she looked back up, her big orange eyes boring into him. "If they're someone we can trust, I want to meet them. Is that really too much to ask?"

This drew a soft hiss through his nose, his lips tight and brows knit. "Look, Scout-"

He froze, the chinking of keys going into the lock of his door prompting his body towards the bathroom. Scout immediately fixed him with a vengeful gaze.

"Host, I swear to Gubberson, if you throw me in there, I'll scream!"

"Please don't?" He asked with a desperate smile before pulling her from his body like velcro and dropping her a foot from the floor. She immediately turned around upon landing and tried jumping out, the gap closing to conceal her livid expression. He winced as he heard the thump against the door. 

"Please and thank you." He whispered.

"Host-!"

The door opened wide, the both of the shutting up as a woman stepped through the doorway. She held her wiry form taut beneath her white T, glacier blue eyes scanning the room quick before settling on him. At once she let out a breath of relief, running one hand through her short messy hair while she turned the safety of her pistol back on with the other.

"Jesus, Frank," She crudely addressed him in the cadence of her southern drawl, "how long does it take you to answer the damn door?" 

"Yeah, sorry Zoe. I was busy trying to find my best lingerie." He deadpanned, turning around to lean against the bathroom door before waving to her arm. "And why the hell did you bring a gun?!" 

"Because I heard you screaming bloody fucking murder in the middle of the goddamn night, Frank!" She exasperated, crossing her arms over her chest as she frowned. "I didn't think much of it since it stopped so quick, but I was still worried and peeked in to check on you."

"Well as you can see, I'm perfectly fine." He opened his arms to gesture to himself, but the minute he did so, she uncrossed her own and hugged him, wrapping them around his sides with her neck hugging his shoulder. He had been partially expecting this, so he relented with a sigh and resigned himself to it, patting her back in comfort.

"You've got everyone worried sick, you know that?" She said from behind him while he thought of a way to avoid that subject.

"Yeah, well you're still a girl and you're giving me an awkward boner, so could you not?"

She immediately pushed herself away with a smile through pursed lips as she turned away. "Oh, you hush now. You love me."

"Nooo, my family loves you. There's a big difference." He brushed his front off like he had touched something dirty before making his way to the sink to turn the faucet on. "By the way, where did you get a gun in the first place? Wait. Don't tell me; Uncle Jerry?" 

"What? You're not gonna ask where I got the keys to your place from?" She laughed as she leaned against the counter.

"My next question." He answered, though he already had an idea. Zoe nodded thoughtfully as she set her gun on top.

"No. Actually, it was _my_ uncle. He got it for me when we first moved here. Said there ain't autta be a woman out there that don't have the balls to remove a man's own if he gets too frisky."

"And you wonder why I keep my door locked." He finished with the spatula as she laughed darkly, placing it in the drying rack. After grabbing the pan, he held out a hand. "Keys please."

She held out a fist and dropped nothing into his hand. "Can't. Your aunt Prim asked me to keep an eye on you since I live so close." She answered bluntly as she walked over to the couch. "Were you serious when you said you were "entertaining" someone?""

He had been expecting this. He coughed into his hand. "Unfortunately, no. I was just hungry for two."

"On two plates?" She asked with a raised brow. "With four pieces of toast?"

"I skipped breakfast, so sue me." He placed it there as well and dried his hands on a nearby towel. "Also, why does everyone from the last generation seem to think that it's the apocalypse?"

"Give them some slack, Frank. They've probably seen things we can't even imagine." She said in such a distant way that it almost made him wonder if she had her own problems to deal with. That moment, as well as his concern, died shortly after she picked up one of the plates and brought it over to the counter. "Hand me a knife, would you?" 

"I barely trust you with a gun and you think I'm gonna hand you a knife?" He looked down at the half-eaten remnants of his meal. "Besides, did you consider that I might still want that?"

"I did. And I don't rightly give a damn." She said, already having retrieved a butter knife from the nearest drawer and cutting off the end with his bite marks. He grabbed what was left and ate that while she took a bite out of the bigger portion, letting out a soft hum while she did so.

"Hmm. It's been too long since I've had a breakfast taco." She relished between bites.

_ "Hey, one of those is mine!" _

They both looked towards the bathroom door, the two of them still until Zoe set her food down and turned to him with an incredulous look.

"I thought you said that you were alone?"

"I am." He said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Then who was that?" She waved an arm towards the door.

"Who was what?"

"That voice, Frank." She stated, a caustic edge creeping into her own.

"What are you talking about?"

"The person talking inside-" her sentence faltered as she let her arm drop to her side, knitting her brows as he seemed to find something interesting about the refrigerator. "Are you fucking with me, Franklin?!"

"Hmm?" He finally looked back to her, feigning oblivious innocence.

"Yeah, sorry about him." They both turned back to Scout's voice echoing from inside the bathroom, "He can be kind of an asshole sometimes!"

Zoe's grimace curled into a devious little smile. "You said it, hun." She turned back to Franklin, who was currently leaning back against the counter with a sigh. 

"Unbelievable!" She laughed wryly. "You're finally back on the horse after how long and you force that poor girl to hide from me in the bathroom? Shame on you!" She punched him in the arm as he groaned.

"First of all, ow. Second of all,-"

"So how long has this been a thing?" She pondered out loud, biting her lower lip.

"About two days." Scout piped up from inside.

_"Really~?"_ Zoe beamed.

**"You're not helping!"** Franklin exasperated over her shoulder to the puppet inside before looking back to her. "Look, Zoe-"

"Not outta the hospital for a week and you've already got yourself a girl?" She whistled. "Boy, all that suffering must have done you some kinda good."

"She's my cousin, Zoe." He finally got out, the woman's smile seeming to diminish only a fraction as she looked off in thought.

"I thought Russell was your only cousin?"

"She's from the other side of my family." He paused, letting the awkward silence that followed sink in for a moment while he thought up the rest of his story. After a moment, she put her hands up in defense as she walked past him.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me twice. It ain't in me to judge a perverted man for his perverted kinks."

He raised a brow at her. "Says the woman that carries around a gun for the express purpose of castration."

She turned around. "Hey, that's not me being judgemental. It's just a handy tool to have. You know, against the handy." She clutched and re-clutched her fingers for emphasis.

"Zoe Mercer; judge, jury, and human guillotine." He shook his head, knowing well in advance of the bird she'd be flipping him. After that, she continued where she left off on his brunch, looking back over to the door.

"Oh hun, ain't it about time you came out?"

"Right," Scout paused, Franklin throwing a cautious glance at the door, "I was going to but, I, uh, need to take a shower. Long day, you know?"

He looked about as confused as Zoe, trying not to make his relief obvious as she inquired.

"But it's only just past noon, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah. That's what I mean. My host- er, Franklin was going to give me a tour of town."

Zoe leaned in close. "Host?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, like she's my guest and I'm the host." Her expression unchanging, he explained. "She's from a . . . strict family. They're very formal."

"Ah, gotcha." She nodded in understanding.

"The fuck are you two whispering about?" Scout said, more to herself than them by the sound of it. Franklin smiled.

"I'm helping her out of her shell."

"Well, ain't you a saint." Zoe snorted before looking back to the door again. "Listen, hun, what's you're name?"

He stepped in. "Her name's Saman-"

"Scout!" The puppet yelled from inside, cutting him off in the process and causing Zoe to give him an odd look. "My name's Scout. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but that's kinda hard through the fucking door!"

"I hear you. That's a pretty name." Zoe perked up, thankfully seeming to miss the undertones aimed his way. "My name's Zoe, by the by. So how long are you in town for?"

"Uh," Scout stayed silent for a bit. Long enough for Zoe to voice her concern.

"Scout?"

"H- Franklin, could you help me out here?"

_Oh, now you want my help,_ he just barely stopped himself from saying, managing to wipe off his annoyed expression before Zoe turned back to him expectantly. "Scout kinda got into a fight with her . . . parents, and she's decided to come down here for a bit. We don't really know for how long yet."

"Oh my god girl, I am so sorry for prying." She apologized at the door, putting her hands on her hips as she looked down in thought for a second.

"It's fine." Scout said in a solemn tone. "They're all assholes anyway. I would have left sooner if I could."

Zoe lifted her head up. "Tell you what Scout, instead of bunking here where it's cramped, why don't you come with me, and-"

"NO!" the puppet yelled through the door, making his head snap up in attention while Zoe took a half-step back. Scout continued. "I'm sorry, no, it's just, I'd feel a lot safer here with Franklin. It's not you, it's just," she paused again, "He's really helped me out with this. He's a good friend."

Zoe's worried expression slowly shifted into a sincere smile. "No argument here, hun." After that, she turned back to Franklin, who again was looking at the refrigerator. 

"Well ain't you the biggest softy?" She said, laughing after he swatted away a hand that was about to pinch one of his cheeks.

"Bite me." He retorted.

"It's getting nearer to Halloween, so don't tempt me." She said, to which he made a gagging sound before she slapped his shoulder and gave him a serious look. "So where is she sleeping?"

"In my room. I've been taking the couch since she got here." He half-lied.

"And her stuff? Did it come here yet?"

"She already came with everything she had. She's got plenty of enough clothes." He added the latter.

"And your aunt Prim? Does she know about this?"

"Yes." He lied, but something in the way he said it must have betrayed him, because not a moment later did she set her hands on her hips and fixed him with a glare.

"Dammit Frank, why wouldn't you tell her?"

"Because it's not her problem, and she shouldn't have to-"

"It's her building, Frank. And it will be her problem if someone finds out before she does. Tell. Her." She leaned in close to him while he put his arms up.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell her. Geez." He backed up against the counter, but she refused to relinquish any space to him. He sighed. "You know, some people might construed this as sexual harassment."

With a satisfied little huff, she backed off and crossed her arms. "You wish. Anyway, how old is she?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know; same age as us? Why?"

"Oh good, some of my old clothes might fit her." She turned to the bathroom. "Scout, how old are you, hun?"

"Same age as Franklin?" He could hear the questioning air to her voice and he could only hope that Zoe didn't. Her biting her lip didn't help to confirm or deny that, unfortunately. He coughed into his fist.

"So did I pass security, or was there more digging you wanted to do?"

"You tell me." She turned back to him, scanning him up and down as if she'd find something before looking him in the eye. "Why do I feel like you're still hiding something?"

"Probably because I am?" He pulled himself to sit up on the counter. "Despite what you might think Zoe, I am a very fragile soul with plenty of shameful things I do to fulfill my very twisted needs. Not all of them are palatable."

"Yeah, you and every other man I've known." She shook her head with a smile before her eyes lit up and she turned to the door. "Oh, that's right. Scout, I'll be getting out of your hair now, but are you free Sunday?"

"Maybe? What's going on?"

"Actually," he interjected, speaking loud enough so Scout could hear, "me and Scout still have some stuff to unpack, so we'll be pretty busy Sunday. Isn't that right, Scout?"

"Hey, I can make time for Zoe. Let me fucking speak for myself!"

"Yeah, what's gotten into you, Frank? You're acting so weird lately." Zoe looked back at him with furrowed brows. Outnumbered, all he could do was brew and mutter in silent frustration while Zoe turned back.

"Anyway, were having a get-well party for Franklin Sunday. Maybe then we can actually talk face to face."

"Wait, backup. A party?" Franklin asked, getting down from the counter.

"Oh, yeah that was supposed to be a surprise." Zoe looked back over her shoulder innocently. "Just try to look surprised, alright?"

"Thank you for ruining that for me." He groaned in frustration, Zoe looking offended.

"Hey, I thought I was doing you a favor. You said you hate surprises."

"I . . . do, actually." He exhaled. "That really does help. Thank you."

Zoe gave him a momentary sideways glance, like she was shifting her priorities in her head before looking back over to the door. "So what do you think, Scout? You gonna be able to make it?"

_PleasesaynoPleasesaynoPleasesayno_. Franklin was mentally crossing his fingers.

"That . . . sounds fun. I'll definitely be there."

"Sweet. I'll see you there, hun." Zoe smiled before turning around, just missing the sight of Franklin seething in silent rage behind her and clutching his hands like he was trying to choke the life out of the air itself. "And I'll see you there too, Frank. You treat this girl nice until then, you hear?"

"Pft. Yes, mom." he razzed sarcastically, though he stopped when he noticed her looking at him with a tilted head.

"You sure you're alright, Frank? You seem more wound up than a caged coon."

"You have no idea." He breathed out automatically, instantly regretting the moment the words left his mouth. Her frown grew deeper as she leaned against the counter.

"It's bothering you that much? You getting snatched, I mean?"

He put up a hand to shoo her away. "I'm fine, Zoe. I just need some R&R. Really."

"Hey," Zoe put her hand on his shoulder, looking at him evenly, "if you need someone to talk to, you call me or Russell. Got that?"

He groaned and lolled his head dramatically. "Again, yes. Thank you for looking out for me. I appreciate it."

He knew that his tone had probably done little to sell her on that point, but despite the worried lines etched in her face, she nodded with a single "ok,", taking her gun on the counter with her as she walked over to the door and escorted herself out. After the click of the door closing, he let out the breath he had been holding in and strode over to the bathroom door. He opened it to find Scout sitting on the edge of the toilet lid and looking up at him with a gleam in her plastic eyes.l

"Did you hear that? I was invited to a party! An actual fucking host-party!" She pumped her fists in the air, almost knocking herself over in the process while she squeed to herself. He leaned a heavy shoulder against the door frame with a sigh while she jabbered on.

"Fuck yeah!" She spun around on her torso in a half-circle, leaning into herself as she danced there for a moment before turning back to him. "And I made a new friend! Well, sort of." She scooted over to the edge closest to him. "Wait, she wasn't joking with me was she? She didn't seem like it. What if she was one of those hosts that play it cool but they're really shitbags on the inside?" He raised a finger to point something out to her, but she turned around before he could answer. "No, you're right. She's you're friend after all, so that means she's a good person. And now she's my friend! Fucking yes!" 

She spun herself around in a full circle this time, and finally succeeded and knocking herself onto the floor to flip on her back, but that hardly phased her as she stood up again.

"I can't mess this up. I have to play it cool. Take it slow. Host!" She looked back up at him. "You have to put in a good word for me. Tell her how cool and badass I am."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to regale her with the many courageous acts I've seen in the two whole days I've known you." He wiped the tired, crooked grin off his face. "Listen, Scout, we need to talk-"

"Look, I already know what you're going to say, but I've got a way around that." She said. "You can just bring me down to the party and say that I'm some kind of animatronic like they have at those pizza places! You know, say that I'm like, really shy and wanted to show off something fun I do in my-"

"Scout it's not just about that." He stated firmly enough to break her from her trance. "Did you ever stop to consider that we might not be the only ones on Mortimer's hit list? What happens when he hears about a moving puppet or someone named Scout from someone we know, like Zoe, or Russell, or literally anyone else?"

Scout stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes after a few moments. "No. You're over thinking it. Riley probably doesn't move that far away from HQ. And like you said, they're half an hour away from here-"

"They'll be taking videos of you if you go to that party, Scout!" He threw his arm out back towards the TV. "That internet I was showing you before? Youtube? Everything on there is available to everyone in the world. If Mortimer or Riley have even the slightest knowledge about it, it won't take them long at all to figure out that you're alive. And if they can read? And type? We're basically as good as screwed."

Scout balled her hands into fists. "Fuck them! They live in their own little fucking worlds at night with the only thing to watch is the fucking cable! And isn't it better if more hosts know the truth anyway? I've never even seen the host-world and I already know that you hosts outnumber them a hundred to one."

"And who do you think they'll start with when they decide that they want nothing to do with these voodoo puppets, Scout? Or worse, what they'll do when they decide that they want to do something with them?" She scoffed as she looked away from him, Franklin leaning forward. "I don't want the people I love and care about to be turned into puppetfied zombies, or torn to shreds, _again_."

"Oh, boo fucking hoo. It must be so hard to have people you give a shit about." She turned back to him. "Do you know what I would have done to have someone like that back at HQ? To have someone I can actually rely on in all of that bullshit like you and your girlfriend? And now you're taking away the chance to make more?"to

He sighed. "She's not my girlfriend, she's Russell's ex." He shook his head. "And I'm not taking that chance away from you, Scout. I'm just trying to make sure that you're safe."

"Bullshit. You're just trying to save your own ass!" She pointed an accusatory mitten at him. "Just like when we were trying to get out of that hell-hole. Just nod along to whatever the puppet says, right? Maybe then I can get out in one piece and rip her the fuck off later, right?" She sniffed and rubbed her arm across her eyes, Franklin just realizing that she was crying.

"Scout . . ."

"I get it." She said, her eyes cast to the floor. "You're trying to get your old life back. You didn't plan for any of this." She looked back up to him. "but I'm here now. And I'm sorry if I'm making that hard for you. But I don't want to spend another fucking moment pretending like I don't exist. I want-" she choked up before sitting against the wall, small sobs rocking her tiny body as she crossed her arms over it and looked down at the floor. Guilt, the kind only a crying woman could cause, crashed against the inside of his gut and he almost instinctively reached out to comfort her, but she shriveled away from his touch, turning away to look at him through the side of one narrowed eye.

"Just get me my fucking taco, alright?"

Wordlessly he nodded, getting up and walking out to the couch with heavy steps to bend down and get her meal. The minute he turned around however, the door had closed shut with it's soft snap and heard the lock being turned soon after. He'd been mildly impressed by what he imagined to be some skillfully performed acrobatics involved with that, but instead he sighed and sat down on the couch, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. He thought about knocking on the door and asking how she was, but he shook his head to himself. Right now, the best thing was to give her some space. After all, she couldn't stay mad at him forever.

But what the hell was she going to do when she learned the truth?

-xXx-

**"Hmmm."**

** "What?" **

** "Nothing Barbra." **

** "No, tell me what's wrong with it." **

** "It's nothing." **

** "Jack, I swear to god-" **

** "Alright, you want to know what it is?!" **

** "Yes, Jack!" **

** "You put the cheese and lettuce on the fucking bottom! Again!" **

** "What the fuck does it matter?! It's all going down the same hole anyway! Just flip the fucking sandwich over!" **

** "It's on a bun, Barbra! You can't just flip it over!" **

** "Oh yeah? Watch me!" **

** Thud, clink. **

** Clap. Clap. **

** "Oh great fucking job, Barbra. You flipped a sandwich upside down. Are you happy now?" **

** "Go fuck yourself, asshole!" **

** Screek. **

** "You know what, I think I will!" **

** "Where the Hell are you going?" **

** "To find someone who can actually make me a FUCKING SANDWHICH!" **

** Slam! **

He flashed his wings open, looking at the confused girl as she jumped at his latest noise. Whistling pleasantly at the change in her expression, he closed his wings and bobbed his way over the other side of the branch where she held a twisty cone with sprinkles. He let out a sadder whistle when he leaned over, only for the girl to pull it away.

"You said a bad word." She said with a pout. He flapped his wings frantically.

**"I didn't! They did! They said all those things! I was trying to sleep when they started to sing!" **

"Mmmm." She brushed her brown curly locks out of her face with the crook of her elbow before seeking to come to a decision. With a growing smile, she leaned the cone his way while his eyes dilated. "Ok, but don't have too much. Mommy says animals aren't supposed to have people food."

**"Oooooooooooooo!"** He leaned forward, his beak opening wide while he tentatively tongued the cold, but sweet cream. He heard the girl giggling as he smeared more of it over his beak, scooping a small chunk from the cone with the end of it and licking it off that. She laughed even more when his fabric arms started slapping the ice cream around like they were trying to knock it over. Meanwhile, the girl came close to the branch, and he turned his head around to try and bite at the tiny plastic brush she was running over his back.

"Sit still. I'm gonna make you pretty."

**"I'm a pretty bird!"** He squeaked, still trying to bite at her brush as she giggled, the arms crossing across his chest. After a while, he heard an adult call.

"Macy! It's time to go home!" A voice shouted from afar.

"Ok Mommy!" The girl turned back and patted his head with an open palm, turning his light on and off as she whispered. "Ok I gotta go. You be a good birdy, ok?"

He cooed into her hand before she turned and ran around the colorful playground, woodchips kicking back behind her as she did so while he lifted a scaly foot and shook it at her.

**"Bye bye girly! This isn't the end! Next time you will be host! And then we'll be friends!"** He shrieked excitedly until he lost sight of her, clicking his beak in satisfaction before scooting over to the trunk and climbing his way back up from the lowest branch. There he could sleep with one eye and keep the other three tracking the movement of the children below, their erratic running and playing offering endless hours of entertainment from his place behind the leaves.

The last few days had been like this. Fly at night. Follow tugging. Stop to see something. Sleep at day. Avoid no-puppet hosts. But the no-puppet hosts Riley showed him weren't that small, so he decided that kids didn't count. Plus they had food. And bright toys for him to play with.

As he switched eyes, he scratched the back of his head with his foot, a few old feathers falling out in the process. He had never flown so far before. Or alone. It got lonely. He missed Nick Nack. And his brushes. But at least there were other birds out here. But they always flew away when he tried talking to them. 

Except the owls. He didn't like them. They always followed him at night. And they always watched him with those big creepy eyes. And they were always asking him questions he didn't have the answers to.

He decided not to think about the owls anymore. Though as the kids started to leave and the orange light of the dying sun reflected off of the curves of the metal playset, that became increasingly harder to do. Soon he'd have to fly and be off and there would be nothing separating him from the owls. But so long as he kept his lights on, they didn't seem to want to get too close.

Soon enough he would find out. As the sun just started to disappear behind the hills, so too did the streetlights come on. One by one, they turned on to light the lonely asphalt once more. Some popped on in full illumination. Some flickered behind. When the last set running by the playground lit up, he turned his head and tapped it against the tree, setting his own twin lights on just a second behind. With that, he fell silently from his perch and winged himself high above the tree, slowly banking around in a circle until he felt the puppet arm tied around his body pull towards where the sun had set.

**"West! West! Scout is West!"** He screamed excitedly and took off towards the trees silhouetted by the little remaining light in a purple sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this time I really am taking a break. Really need to get on my novel / Short story. Until then, have fun!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever, well, anything on here, so if anything is out of place or seems weird by A03 standards, any helpful criticisms or commentary is appreciated. 
> 
> Also, this and the next chapter might be the only ones I post, since these were originally just meant to introduce my OC, Hibird. I'm still deciding on that bit. Apologies in advance.
> 
> Also also, if you want to see what Hibird looks like here's the link: https://www.deviantart.com/lisaurian/art/Hello-Puppets-OC-Hibird-Drawing-1-833321298


End file.
